


Hard Left

by OpalizedFossil



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Character Death, Cuddling, Cute monsters, Eye Trauma, Falling In Love, Fight Scenes, Interrogation, M/M, Masturbation, Monster sex, Monsterfucking, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Romance, Size Difference, Stupid Sexy Monsters, Torture, Voyeurism, buttfucking, cryptid AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 103,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalizedFossil/pseuds/OpalizedFossil
Summary: Meis is casually housesitting his uncle's farm when he encounters something strange and unusual.Strange, unusual, and kind of hot.
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare), Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 146
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beware, here there be monsters - stupid, sexy monsters. This is a self-indulgent monsterfucking fic wherein Meis is a spoiled trust fund baby housesitting for his uncle and Gueira is a fire-breathing alien beastie with a big dick. What do you want from me? (Smut begins in chapter two.)

It’s forty minutes ‘til noon when the ringing of Meis’ smartphone wakes him. Groaning, he shifts onto his side, squinting in the onslaught of muted sunshine through the heavy beige curtains, and gropes blindly for the offending phone, which is screeching some death metal song at him with all the overenthusiastic volume of a car alarm. He manages to get it to his ear, hair hanging haphazardly in his scrunched-up face, and press the answer button before it stops ringing, with a groggy, halfhearted, “Hello?”

“Meis,” comes the sharp southern drawl of his uncle, “Everything okay over there?”

Meis blinks blearily, more asking than telling, “Yeah?”

“Just checkin’,” his uncle says with an undertone of concern that catches Meis’ attention, even in his half-asleep, vaguely hungover state, “There’s been some trouble in the area an’ I was worried. Next farm over got hit by some sorta wild animal attack last night, killed a buncha livestock an’ ate ‘em. I can’t afford to lose half my stock to some hungry beastie, so keep a close eye out, yeah?”

Meis sighs. “Watcha want me to do if I  _ do  _ see something, huh?”

“Shoot it,” his uncle tells him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and like Meis has ever handled a rifle in his life, before he tells him where to find the set of keys to the gun cabinet and reminds him to keep an especially close eye on the newborn lambs in the lower fells and the two new calves in the closest field.

Meis hums with disinterest. “Any idea what it even was?”

“Ain’t gotta clue,” his uncle says, as gruff as ever, “I’m guessin’ dogs, wolves ain’t real common ‘round here these days an’ ain’t been in years. Neighbor said he thought it might be a bear, there was some real big tracks down in the fells where the carcasses was.”

“So, I’m keeping an eye out for either a pack of feral dogs or a fuckin’  _ bear _ ,” Meis remarks, “I’ll be sure to jump right in an’ stop it if I see anything, man.”

“Check your attitude, I’m doing you a favor,” his uncle reminds him, “Now, get your lazy ass outta bed an’ feed my animals already.”

“Mmhmm,” Meis hums, hanging up without another word, before he plops his head back down on his rumpled pillow and spends the next half hour scrolling through Instagram, before a combination of his bladder and his grumbling stomach finally drive him out of bed and downstairs into the kitchen. He finds the keys to the gun cabinet right where his uncle said they would be and leaves them there, scuffling across the hardwood floors in his bunny slippers and bathrobe while he nurses a bowl of cereal and the throbbing headache of a hangover. Just the sunlight coming in through the blinds feels blinding and he’s far from eager to venture out into the midday Texas heat to tend to his uncle’s animals.

It’s been two weeks since Meis moved in here, three since his mom and dad tossed him out on his ass and told him not to come back until he straightened himself out. His uncle had heard and taken pity on him, if Meis could consider a farmhouse roof over his head and ten hours of chores per day a mercy - which he didn’t, but it beat bumming change from friends for food and couchsurfing until his parents let him come home, so he agreed. He’s a 24-year-old college dropout with a fondness of music and not much else, and even less to show for himself beyond the fact that he’s a spoiled ass trust fund baby who still lives with his parents in their veritable Dallas mansion, a few hours northeast from here. Wherever  _ here  _ is, Meis just thinks of it as the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, where the stereotypical Texan farmers live with their pretty housewives and chickens and steers. He’s not keen on the thirty-minute drive to absolutely everything, especially with the shitty gas mileage his Ford F-150 gets, but it’s a roof over his head and food in his belly, and his parents agreed to spend him a hefty stipend every week as an allowance so long as his uncle continued to attest to his good behavior. Not that said uncle would know: the entire reason that Meis is here, keeping an eye out for hungry bears or rabid wolves or whatever trying to eat his damned sheep, is because his uncle is out of state for business until the end of the summer.

It’s 2PM before Meis manages to haul himself outdoors - in namebrand black sunglasses, to soften the sting of the glaring midday sunlight - to feed and water the many, many animals that call his uncle’s farm home, from cattle to chickens to a single retired racehorse with an attitude almost as bad as Meis’ that his uncle calls Rusty. There would have been a sheepdog, too, but it was clingy and his uncle was too attached to it to leave it behind while he went off on business, so he brought it with him, much to Meis’ dismay. He likes dogs, much better than he likes hairbrained cows or chickens pecking at his workboots while he throws out their feed or that damned horse.

The sheep, for their part, mostly take care of themselves. All Meis has to do is check on them occasionally, and open the gates between the different fells for them to graze in once one is eaten down to browning stubble and brush in a few weeks’ time. He figures he’s awfully bad at herding them from place-to-place, especially with no sheepdog to help him, but then again, he’s awfully bad at damn near everything, so who cares. What matter is that he gets them there, and that his uncle isn’t around to laugh at him for tripping on tangled tree roots and stray bricks from crumbling dividing walls while he chases them around like a hairbrained idiot. When he’s wrangled the last of them into the next fell, he slams the gate closed behind them, double-checking that it’s latched before he claps the dirt off on his trousers and turns to leave, a ratty old cowboy hat shading his face from the sun.

Meis pauses when something catches his eye.

Stooping, he tilts his sunglasses down far enough to study the dusty pathway beneath his foots, squinting at a footprint that is very much not his own. It dwarfs his, a print from something that must have been phenomenally huge, the shape indistinct as the midday breeze blew dust right back over it, but it looks like it had two or three twos. It almost reminds him of the fossilized footprints of theropod dinosaurs he had seen in his childhood picture books long ago, but he chuckles at the mere suggestion, shaking his head as he rises and makes off for the house. Must’ve been from the sheep, he’s seen them slide while running, which might’ve made their prints look larger than they actually were and give them a strange shape. What mattered is that it didn’t look the print from any dog he had ever seen, so it’s fine. It’s fine, because there’s still a third of a bottle of tequila waiting for him back at the house, along with leftover pasta and half a season of his favorite show on Netflix.

The following morning, Meis wakes an hour later, just as hungover, and lounges in bed for another two hours, before he drags himself down to the kitchen and flicks on the news while he makes himself a combination breakfast, lunch, and dinner, downing a bottle of water like it’s the best shit he’s ever tasted when the newscast catches his attention.

“I’ll be damned,” he mutters as he listens. Another animal attack, this time a few farms over, the anchor says, before she advises the locals to keep an eye on their livestock and switches over to the weatherman. Rain’s due in two hours and Meis doesn’t want to get caught in it, so he hurries outside into the overcast, humid summer heat to tend to the animals before the storm rolls in.

He’s enjoying an evening glass of wine and some sleazy late-night TV drama four hours later, with the rain drumming rhythmically against the rooftop and thunder rumbling in the distance, when he hears a howl. It’s ear-splitting, the most shrill thing he’s ever heard, and sounds absolutely nothing like anything he’s ever heard. It could  _ maybe  _ be a dog, if the dog was in its death throes and knew the devil was waiting for it on the other side, Meis jumping to his feet and nearly spilling his wine down the front of his bathrobe in his scramble to the nearest window. He checks the front yard, then the back, then the window upstairs that gives him the best view of the nearest fields and the big red barn in the back, but he sees nothing out of the ordinary. By the time he’s back on the sofa with his wine and his feet propped up and the steady rain humming him to sleep, he’s already convinced himself that he imagined it, that it was just the storm.

Except the next night, when the storm’s blown over and there is no rain to muffle the ear-splitting, fear-inducing screech, there’s no room for him to deny that whatever the sound is, it’s very, very real. He hears a more familiar sound with it this time: the cries of an animal. He knows that there will be carnage to uncover in the fells when he wakes up tomorrow, but remembering the way that blood-chilling yowl sent a shiver down his spine, he can’t find it in himself to reach for the keys to that gun cabinet and go check it out in the dark.

The next morning, the chickens and cattle are fortunately untouched. Even the damned horse is still there. But, when Meis reaches the fells, toting a gun he has no idea how to use (and unknown to him, isn’t even  _ loaded _ , which is a critical step in making it even vaguely effective as a weapon), the sheep are terrified. Understandably so, Meis thinks as he recalls the howl he’s heard for the past two nights, before pushing it to the back of his mind. The last thing he needs is to send himself into a panic while he’s this far down in the fells. To his surprise, the damage is minimal; he finds two carcasses, stripped down to bone, red ribs pointing up at the sky with tidbits of meat left only on the skulls, one of which is crushed beyond recognition. Meis pokes it with the butt of the rifle, morbidly fascinated, when a peculiar odor reaches his nose through the stench of blood and rot baking in the Texas heat.

Something’s burning.

It’s an acrid smell, like a chemical fire, but underneath the initial bitterness, there’s almost a sweetness to it. Meis follows his nose, startled when he crests the slope and finds the hillside below streaked in black ash, the short remnants of the grass charred to a crisp like there had been a wildlife in just this one spot. “What the hell,” the mutters to himself as he crouches, fingering the grass, watching as it crumbles to dust beneath the faintest touch. The burn streaks across the hillside for maybe ten feet, where it suddenly ends as suddenly as it began. Baffled, Meis stands, squints at the charred earth from underneath the brim of his cowboy hat, and promptly decides that he should head home. Something about the scene has his skin crawling, and he doesn’t want to stick around to find out what ate his uncle’s sheep and then set the fell on fire.

Two days later, it’s the chickens. Meis wakes in the wee hours of the morning to them clucking and screeching and causing a ruckus and is frankly too terrified to leave bed and check the window. But, once the noise quietens down and he settles back into bed, he realizes exactly how silly that is. What’s he afraid of? Arsonist wolves? It’s just an animal, probably a dog. He could probably run it off just by yelling (because he still doesn’t know how to use that damn rifle his uncle left him and he’s too embarrassed to call and ask where the ammo is), and it could go terrorize somebody else’s farm. It could be someone else’s problem.

And that’s what he tells himself when, the following morning, he hears one of the cows hollering in the pasture, right before he hears the distinctive thunder of a stampede. He jumps up quicker than he ever has in his life and, rather than reaching for the rifle, grabs the broomstick by the back door before he storms out into the backyard in nothing but his boxers, a bathrobe, and his bare feet, shouting and waving a broomstick that’s shedding fibers on the overgrown lawn and flailing his arms like an absolute madman.

He freezes.

The thing in the pasture freezes, too.

Meis’ mind races. He doesn’t know what he’s looking at, but it’s something impossibly huge, a few hands taller than Rusty the racehorse and doubly, if not triply, as wide. From a glance, it’s muscular, it’s black as the night, and it’s distinctly otherworldly and very much not any animal that Meis has ever seen nor heard of. He thinks it has horns, and he thinks maybe it was breathing fire, and then he blinks and the thing is gone and he’s left standing in nothing but his bathrobe and his boxers in the backyard, a broom handle hanging limply from his fingertips before it hits the morning-damp grass with a thump.

Meis doesn’t know what he saw, but he doesn’t want to be outside when it comes back for his uncle’s cattle, so he hurries back inside and latches the door (like a lock will do him absolutely any good against something that size that can maybe, just maybe,  _ breathe fire _ ) and spends the rest of the day hiding in bed with his smartphone, desperately Googling the local strains of wildlife and trying to convince himself that it must have been a bear. A fire-breathing, hugeass, obsidian-black bear. 

He knows it isn’t true, but he tries not to think about it too much. He tries to resume some sense of normalcy after that, tending to the animals every afternoon before he retires to the sofa to watch Netflix or drives to the nearest market to buy himself food. Things quieten down for a few days. Meis is almost willing to believe that he imagined it, that he was entirely too hungover or drunk or sleep-deprived, even though he sleeps half the day, and that his mind fabricated the horned, fire-breathing monster out of a feral dog or a wolf or a bear. Maybe it had even been one of the bulls, worrying a cow in the pasture. It  _ had  _ resembled a bull, if only a little.

And then, one night, that horrible howl pierces through the peaceful quiet of the night and Meis wakes with a start, suddenly acutely aware of the clucking and cawing of the chickens and the frightened mewls of the cows in the nearby pasture and even the whinny of Rusty the horse. Oh god, he thinks. He didn’t imagine it after all.

This time, Meis thinks to throw on his shoes before he ties off his bathrobe, grabs a flashlight, and rushes into the backyard brandishing that same broomstick as before. And there it is: the fire-breathing monster, reared up on two well-muscled hind limbs with its eerily human hands on the undulating metal roof of the chicken coop, smoke rising up from its slit nostrils in the beam of Meis’ flashlight as it whirls its massive head around to face him. Its elongated snout glides seamlessly into a pointed huge head, splitting around a glowering mouthful of radioactive-neon-green teeth that glow like Christmas lights in the night. From its head rise two curved, neon red horns like those of a steer, but longer. He looks for its eyes and finds none, only empty space on its black-as-night face where its eyes should probably be.

Meis stares at it.

It stares back, eyeless and unblinking.

Neither of them move for a moment that stretches on for what feels like forever, and then the thing takes a single shaky step towards him, nostrils flaring and sending up streams of smoke, and Meis shrieks and smacks it right in the nose with the broomstick.

Chuffing, the creature stumbles backwards, where it falls down on its haunches. Behind it, there’s a very long, very smooth-looking tail, the length of it lined with scutes like a crocodile, coming to a pointy thin tip that twitches with what Meis might call curiosity if he was thinking anything other than  _ huge fucking monster _ .

Even without eyes, it almost looks offended that he whacked it in the face with a broom, snorting irritably and sending up another puff of smoke. It scratches at the dust with one claw, glowering the same eerie red as its horns and as the vents that cover its huge body, leaking smoke, before it looks back at Meis and tilts its head to one side.

Meis steps towards it, still brandishing the broom, squinting at it through the moonlight. “ _ What  _ in the blue blazes are you?” he demands, before he stretches out a hand. The creature stares back at him, then noses its snout into his offered hand, snuffling curiously. “You’re no bear, that’s for sure. What the fuck are ya? I’m losin’ my fuckin’ mind, aren’t I?”

Then, to Meis’ alarm, the huge head shakes from side-to-side. He stumbles backwards, yelping. “Oh, shit, you like,” he slurs out, shocked, “You  _ understand  _ me?”

The thing’s huge head rises and falls in a nod.

“Oh shit,” Meis says again, because he doesn’t know what else to say, “Are you like...an alien? A monster? Did ya escape from a lab or something, big guy? Holy fuckin’ shit.”

It tilts its head at him again. Meis laughs, because he’s too shocked to do anything else, and drops the broomstick. He doesn’t know whether he should be surprised or not when the thing sweeps out with a deft hand to catch it, gripping it with elongated toes that almost look like fingers. It offers the broom back to him and he just shakes his head, laughing again. He’s losing his mind, he’s losing his mind…

He doesn’t know why, but the next thing out of his mouth is, “You can’t eat my chickens.”

It cocks its head the other direction.

“Or my sheep. Or any of the other animals. Got it?” Meis asks, like he expects an answer. 

The huge head dips, whimpering so pitifully with an exhale of smoke from its slit nostrils and the vents on its well-muscled shoulders that Meis would almost call it cute. He might as well, since he’s already talking to the damn thing and it’s  _ understanding  _ him and  _ holy shit _ , what is going on.

“Oh, you’re...you’re hungry, right?” Meis asks. It nods. He shudders with a sigh, inhaling deeply, and then takes the broom back from it. “Wait ‘ere. Right here. Got it? I’m getting ya food.”

Meis leaves. He should lock himself in the house and call  _ someone  _ and never leave again, but something compels him to waltz right back outside like an absolute crazy idiot, brandishing not a hunting rifle, but a package of chicken breast filets from the supermarket. He isn’t even surprised at this point that the monster is right where he left it, patiently waiting. 

Meis slits the plastic clingwrap off the package with his fingernail, taking one slimy raw chicken breast in hand and stretching it out towards the monster. This is it, this is how he loses his wholeass arm. 

The creature takes it from him as gently as a lamb, before it throws its head back and swallows it whole. Surprised, he feeds it another, and then another, until the package is empty. When it’s done, a neon-red tongue swipes over its bright green teeth, with no visible lips to cover them, giving it the appearance of always grinning maniacally at him.

It actually has five ruby-red tongues, he realizes a moment later, and he doesn’t know why he’s paying such close attention to that not-so-little detail.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. The beast lifts its snout towards the sky, whining pensively, and then rises up off its haunches and meanders over to the back door of the farm house on all fours. Meis is staring at it when it looks back at him over its shoulder, as if to say,  _ Are you coming? _

“Alright, big guy,” Meis says, scoffing, “You’re real cool and all an’ I’ve got no beef with you, but you ain’t comin’ in my house.”

It whines at him. More thunder rumbles overhead, closer this time. A summer storm is rolling in, before the sun even has the chance to rise.

Meis sighs, “No, not happenin’. But...there is a nice big barn ya can stay in, yeah? C’mon.”

The thing is so big that its footsteps practically tremble as it follows him out towards the barn. Meis is acutely aware that he probably shouldn’t have his back turned towards a huge unidentified alien-monster-thing, but he figures that if it wanted to attack him, it would have done so by now. But it hadn’t. In fact, it hadn’t seemed aggressive at all. The only reason it had attacked the animals, he supposes, is because it was hungry.

He shines the flashlight into the empty barn as he unlatches the door and watches it swing slowly open. This time of summer, it’s rarely used; his uncle’s one horse puts up too much of a fight for him to bother with stabling it every night, anyways. The concrete floor is nice and cool this time of night, strewn with loose hay with several more bales stored in the back, where Meis promptly hauls one down and shoves it with his foot. “Help yourself, big guy,” he says, almost chuckling when the monster regards the rolling hay bale with apprehension, like it expects it to attack him, “Get nice an’ comfy, ya can wait out the rain in here, okay?”

The monster seems to have figured out the hay, clawing it free from its tightly formed bale to scatter it across the concrete, making itself something of a bed. Meis looks around, scanning with his flashlight for a horse blanket. “Just don’t...y’know, burn the place down or go snackin’ on my animals, got it?”

“Got it,” the monster says, in a voice that rumbles like thunder and sounds like scraps of metal being ground to dust in an industrial food processor. 

Meis screams, drops his flashlight, and bolts back towards the house. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely neglected to mention in the previous chapter that Gueira's cryptid design is heavily based off of [andr0nap](https://twitter.com/andr0nap)'s [Burnish armor design](https://twitter.com/andr0nap/status/1285803400861552640) design for him! Please give them a follow! <3 
> 
> There's smutty goodness in this chapter, which I wrote after a 12-hour shift with a migraine, so leave me a comment and a kind word, you beautiful monster-fucking cowards. ;) <3

Meis can’t sleep and, in the end, he ventures back outside because he needs to see the monster again to convince himself that he didn’t hallucinate it. He needs to hear it speak a second time, as terrifying as it was the first, to solidify in his mind that the thing is really  _ really  _ real.

An inch-and-a-half of rain has already gathered on the lawn, turning it to churning mush that his boots sink into as he trudges back to the barn, the first light of day beginning to brighten the thick cover of grey clouds that blankets the sky above, even as the rain continues to fall. Something’s closed the barn door - either the wind or the monster itself - so he has to throw it aside before he can enter, bringing with him the package of skirt steak he bought a few days before. If this thing really  _ is  _ real and intends to stick around, it’s going to cost him a small fortune in butcher fees alone.

The monster is precisely as he left it - settled down in strewn-out hay, sleeping quietly with its huge head rested on its well-muscled forelimbs. Each breath causes its sides to rise and fall, sending a puff of steam out of the fleshy vents on its shoulders and the top of its snout. Even in the semi-darkness of the barn, the thing glows like a stoplight on a rainy night, neon red from its horns and claws and the elongated spikes on the back of its arms, nuclear waste green from its mouth, which is stretched into a permanent scowling grin full of wickedly sharp teeth. When it’s still, it looks even more surreal, almost like a statue or a machine, carved from sleek black obsidian - and then, it shudders with a breath and the sides that look like they’re made of metal unexpectedly give like flesh and blood. Meis might have found the monster terrifying, if it weren’t, to put it frankly,  _ sick as fuck. _

And then there’s the smell, Meis notices as he sets the package of meat down to fetch an empty bucket from the back of the barn, tracking mud across the concrete floor as he goes. He’s been around enough animals, both wild and domestic, in his time in rural Texas to know that their odor is usually markedly unpleasant. He’s had the displeasure more than once of having to wash a dog that’s rolled in roadkill. Even his mom’s pet cat back home has some of the rankest breath he’s ever smelled, though he supposes he would too, if all he ever ate was canned tuna and duck liver pate. But, his monster doesn’t smell foul or like rancid meat or even like a wild thing; it smells like burning sugar, with an undertone of musk. And Meis has no idea why he’s thinking so intently about how to describe it to himself as he steps outside to fill the bucket with water and then ventures back inside, sending half of it sloshing over the sides as he drops it in front of the beast.

The monster lifts its head with a flare of its nostrils, sending up twin streams of smoke. The burning sugar smell is momentarily stronger before it relaxes again, chuffing happily as it delves its entire muzzle into the bucket of water to drink it down in big, thirsty gulps.

Meis feels awkward just standing there and staring at it, clearing his throat. “Sorry. ‘Bout last night. You startled me real bad, I didn’t know ya could talk.”

There’s a noise that almost sounds like a laugh - if laughing sounded like somebody throwing an aluminum can into a garbage disposal, while a hyena cackled in the background. But, Meis still thinks it must be a laugh.

He huffs. “You  _ can  _ talk, right? I didn’t imagine that? Am I goin’ crazy?”

The monster empties the bucket, five ruby-red tongues smoothing over its glinting green teeth as it smacks its lips (or lack thereof), and looks at him. Or at least, it turns its head towards him. It’s hard to tell if it’s really  _ looking  _ at him, since it doesn’t have eyes. “Talk a little,” it finally says, in a voice that registers more as a vibration than actual vocals.

“You can talk a little?” Meis repeats.

The huge head rises and falls in a nod. “Hungry,” it says, cutting right to the chase.

“Thought you might be,” Meis says, fetching the package of steak and slitting it open, grimacing at the feeling of raw meat dripping between his fingers as he offers it to the beast. Just as before, the creature, which could easily tear his arm from its socket with a simple twist of its head, takes it from him delicately and swallows it whole. He feeds it until the package is empty, and then jolts in surprise when one of those thick, red tongues rolls over his empty palm, lapping any lingering juices away. The thing’s saliva is thick, almost like oil, and hot as Hades. It clings to his skin and stretches in a thin sheen of grey between his fingers when he spreads them, before politely wiping them off on his bathrobe. He hadn’t even had the decency to get dressed after his sleepless, overly eventful night, returning to the barn in his bathrobe, boxers, and muddy workboots.

The monster hardly seems to mind, patting the place beside itself with one clawed hand, the elongated toes almost like fingers. “Sit,” it says, and Meis feels compelled to listen, plopping down on his ass in the hay beside the beast. This early in the morning, the Texas summer heat is less oppressive and he feels a chill in his highly anemic bones, but his monster is warm, even as a distance, smoldering like a space heater. He’s exhausted, a little wet, and a little cold - and he feels a little crazy, which is maybe why he settles in right up against the monster’s suffocatingly warm flank and rests his head on it. It doesn’t seem to mind, a lengthy, black tail curling in around him like an arm, fending off the morning chill.

“Have questions,” it grunts after awhile.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Meis retorts, “Where did you come from? What  _ are  _ you?”

The monster’s head turns towards the barn door, hanging open on its hinges, letting in a windy gust of rain. It seems to be contemplating something, then it replies, “Humans say  _ Miami Monster. _ ”

“Miami Monster?” Meis prompts, “Like...Miami, Florida?”

It nods.

“If you’re originally from Florida, you’re a long ways from home, buddy,” Meis remarks, his fingers fanning out on the monster’s flank to feel the ridges along its sides. It’s so warm.

“But I am called Gueira,” the monster says a moment later, “and I am a  _ Burnish _ .”

“Gueira? Like...that’s your name?” Meis asks.

Gueira nods. “Yours?”

The wind howls. A storm is blowing in. He should have shut the damn door on his way in, sinking further into the monster’s flank, chasing its warmth. “Meis,” he says.

“Meis,” Gueira tries, prolonging the S. He tries until he gets it right, that omnipresent grin lurching further up on his face like he’s very pleased with himself when Meis pats him on the shoulder.

“‘s right,” Meis mumbles, already halfway asleep, “Meis. Meis and Gueira.”

Meis doesn’t remember falling asleep.

He startles awake, sitting upright and glancing around worriedly. But, he’s still in the barn - and Gueira is still there with him, motionless underneath him as it, too, slumbers, its broad sides rumbling with snores and sending up plumes of steam from the vents behind its shoulders. There’s a thin sheen of sweat over his body now, his black hair stuck in clumpy wet strands to his forehead. Outside, the rain is no more, replaced with suffocating sunlight and midday Texas heat. No wonder he’s about to roast; it must be ninety degrees outside and he’s taking an impromptu nap with his newly befriend fire beast like an idiot.

He’s sweaty, he’s hungry, and he has no idea what time it is. Around noon, he thinks, judging by the sunlight streaming in through the open barn door. He wants an ice-cold shower and some lunch, untying his robe and letting it cascade down below his slender shoulders as he rises and starts for the door. 

He hears movement behind him and looks back over his shoulder, brushing a sweaty lock of hair behind his ear, to see Gueira watching him intently. “I’ll be back,” he says softly, “Don’t worry.”

“Will come back?” Gueira prompts, and something about it sounds pitifully lonely.

“I will,” Meis promises, and then leaves his beast to its own devices while he showers.

When Meis returns, his sleek, black hair is tied back in a sloppy halfhearted bun and he has on a croptop and booty shorts - because it’s Texas in the middle of the goddamn summer and it’s  _ hot _ , dammit. He’s halfway through a crisp red apple, bringing a second one along for Gueira, even though he isn’t sure it will even eat it.

Gueira has retreated to the furthest reaches of the barn, where its the coolest this time of day, and is intently waiting for him when he returns. It lifts its head when Meis approaches, that prehensile black tail slapping against the floor eagerly when it spots him.

Meis sits - this time, a reasonable distance from Gueira, because the poor thing is pulsing out heat in waves and it’s already pushing a hundred outside today. “Miss me?”

“Maybe,” Gueira retorts, and then its snout - pointed and sleek like a shark’s with a prominent red chin underneath - is nosing eagerly at the apple in Meis’ palm. Meis offers it to it and the apple is disintegrated into juice in an instant on those razor-sharp teeth as Gueira crunches into it. Chuckling, Meis pats him on the side of his face, not at all startled when the friendly beast pushes its snout into his palm, snuffling eagerly.

“You’re real friendly, huh?” Meis asks.

Gueira makes the strange not-quite-laughing sound again. “Sometimes.”

Meis strokes the side of its snout. “What did you say you was again?”

“Burnish,” Gueira says.

“So, like...are there others? Other Burnish? Burnishes? Fuck.”

“Burnish,” Gueira clarifies, “No others. Not anymore. Just me.”

Meis frowns. “Not anymore? What happened to ‘em?”

Gueira slumps, its chin falling away from Meis’ palm as its lowers his head. Even without eyes or eyebrows or any of the key facial features that should have made it identifiable to Meis, the expression is distinctly sad. “Bad people.”

“Oh,” Meis says.

“Bad people lock me in cage,” Gueira tells him, its flexible tail swinging up alongside it, tucking in close like its hugging itself. Meis’ heart clenches unexpectedly. “I escape and ran away. I come here and hide.”

“You’re doin’ a right rotten job at hiding, bud,” Meis remarks, slowly inching forward until he’s leaning on the monster, both arms as far around its thick neck as he can reach, even though its swelteringly hot. Do monsters even like hugs? Maybe. Gueira seems to, its huge head resting on Meis’ shoulder with a whine that sounds peculiarly like a puppy. “If ya don’t want people to realize you’re here, you can’t go ‘round killin’ people’s livestock. That makes ‘em angry, they’ll set traps an’ try to hurt ya.”

“I was just hungry,” Gueira says.

“I know,” Meis reassures him, “But, the farmers don’t know that. They’ll just be mad you killed their animals an’ try to shoot you. Don’t worry, I’ll get ya food from now on. Or we can go down in the woods an’ find some other animals that ya  _ can  _ catch.”

“Some animals, okay to eat,” Gueira repeats, “Some animals, not for eating?”

“That’s right,” Meis says, “Sorry, I know that must sound confusin’ to ya. But, the animals in the fences an’ stuff? They belong to somebody. And those people need to keep ‘em to sell for money or to eat for themselves. But, there are wild animals out in the woods, and those don’t belong to nobody, so they’re all yours for the takin’, yeah? We just gotta make sure no one sees ya. They might like...try to sell you to the government or something. I don’t know. What did they do with you before?”

“Put me in cage!” Gueira replies, chuffing unhappily, its huge neck shuddering in Meis’ embrace. Meis realizes he’s still holding onto the beast intently and promptly lets go, shuffling backwards to sit back on his knees.

“What about the other Burnish? Are they okay?”

Gueira is quiet for a moment, its head sinking down onto its forearms and a whine seething through its eternally smiling teeth. “Not okay,” he says, softly.

“Oh,” Meis says, “I’m sorry.”

Gueira whines. Meis reaches out and strokes it, between its curling red horns.

“I am only one left now,” Gueira says after a moment, its tail tucked tightly in around it, “I am last Burnish.”

“Are you sure?” Meis asks, “Maybe there could still be others, yeah? Maybe someone else escaped? Or maybe in another country -”

Gueira’s head unexpectedly lays down in his lap. “Last one,” the beast says, and Meis doesn’t know what to say to comfort a monster, so he returns to quietly petting it instead.

* * *

Gueira is surprisingly good company, Meis discovers.

For the next week, Meis passes his time with Gueira tagging along behind him while he attends to his chores around the farm - a constant presence looming over his shoulder, every footstep causing the earth to vaguely tremble in its wake, tail occasionally thumping against the dusty dirt when Meis acknowledges it. When Meis isn’t busy, he sits outside in the barn - where he’s installed a few fans with extension cords running from the house to help them stay cool, though the oppressive summer heat doesn’t seem to bother Gueira much at all when he’s constantly on fire on the inside - or on the porch behind the house with his unexpected guest, reclining against the beast’s steely side while he tells it stories about himself and about home and about music and about how he doesn’t really fit in with his family. Sometimes, he takes his tablet outside and strokes Gueira’s head as it rests on his shoulder while they watch a movie or something silly on YouTube. Meis likes to watch tacky old crime show reruns. Gueira likes to watch kitten videos.

Gueira likes to tell its own stories, too - stories about the Burnish and nights under the stars and how it had a friend called Lio before something separated them and Lio disappeared. It whines with uncertainty and loneliness when it talks about the friends it lost to what Meis thinks must have been some sort of twisted research facility straight out of a science fiction film, and it mewls in delight when Meis shows it a video of two kittens playing with a ball of yarn, and it wags its huge tails and smacks its jowls with five ruby-red tongues when Meis brings it food (and it will eat damn near anything, he’s since discovered). The more time Meis spends with it, the harder it is for him to consider it a monster. He prefers to think of Gueira just as his friend.

Gueira is his  _ only  _ friend here, where he’s relatively isolated in the rural farmlands half an hour outside of town. He’s never fancied himself as friendly and he unnerved his grade school teachers with how utterly unsocial he was. He only visits town once a week for necessities and, even then, he pointedly avoids eye contact with anyone who crosses his path and doesn’t bother to chitchat with the cashiers beyond a polite hello and goodbye. But, with Gueira, it’s suddenly easy, feeling so very right as rain whenever Meis leans on its flank and talks to it about his worries and his troubles and all the things that make him tick. Gueira tells him things, too, and asks more questions than a toddler with a caffeine high and a burning curiosity of the world and absolutely everything in it. Meis is more than happy to answer them; Gueira’s earnest interest in his life is more endearing than annoying. He quickly comes to realize that Gueira is no monster or creature or animal; it’s intelligent, emotional, curious and it thinks and it  _ feels _ . It’s easily more human than most people Meis knows. 

There’s a lot more that Meis learns about Gueira in one short week: that it likes meat and fish and fruit, but it’s a real sucker for sweets, lapping Twinkies and Ding-Dongs from his open palms with all the delicacy and gentleness of a newborn lamb; that its tail thumps against the stained wood floorboards of the back deck a little faster when Meis plays its favorite rock-and-roll band on his brand-new-but-already-cracked iPhone 11; that something deep inside it rumbles like a reverberating, roaring purr as loud as his truck’s engine as it glides down the interstate at 80 MPH when he scratches beneath its prominent, pointed chin. He learns that Guiera likes to talk, but it also likes to listen, and it always asks no shortage of questions afterwards so Meis knows that it was listening. He learns that Gueira is very physically affectionate and, while it seldom touches Meis of its own accord, it likes when Meis touches it. He learns that Gueira is from somewhere around Miami, Florida, where it ran with a pack of others like it before someone caught them and put most of them to death, someone that Gueira only calls  _ bad people _ . He learns that Gueira misses its fellow Burnish and that its painfully lonely and empty in a way that Meis achingly identifies with.

Meis also discovers that Gueira is probably a he, and referring to him as an  _ it  _ when he’s human levels of sentient and every bit their equal is probably rude.

To be fair, it would’ve been hard not to notice, with the way Gueira’s weighty balls swing between his well-muscled hind limbs with every thundering step. Meis wonders for a moment if fire-breathing alien cryptids have oppressive ideas like gender binaries before he realizes that he’s literally staring straight-faced at Gueira’s balls while the beast shreds an old tractor tire to rubber shreds in the yard and has the decency to scold himself and look away. 

Meis’ suspicions are further confirmed a week later, when he awakens unusually early to morning light streaming in through his blinds in glaringly bright slats, streaking shadows across his bedroom, and can’t fall back asleep, so he slips his boots on, shrugs into his bathrobe, and grabs a couple of oranges off the kitchen counter before he ventures outside to see Gueira. The barn door is open, as it usually is these days, so he slips in without a sound, about to call out to the beast when he’s abruptly shocked silent. 

Gueira is awake and on all fours in the middle of his bed, stray pieces of hay and ratty old blankets haphazardly tossed in every direction, with his huge head bowed and his gaping jaws oozing puddles of viscous saliva onto the concrete floor, while the flexible black tip of his prehensile tail delves in and out of his body, a throbbing erection - the same glaringly bright red as his horns and claws - pulses excitedly between his legs.

Meis shrinks back towards the door before Gueira notices him, the cryptid fortunately too caught up in his own thrall to realize he has an audience. To his credit, Meis completely intend to back away until he’s out of earshot, then return to the house in silence. That’s what he  _ intends  _ to do.

Instead, he finds himself frozen in the doorway, just barely far enough away that Gueira won’t catch him on the edges of his vision. The logical part of his brain tells him to leave, to give Gueira some privacy like a decent human being. But, the horny part of his brain urges him to take a hard left down degeneracy lane and just  _ enjoy the view _ .

His dick happens to side with the horny side, twinging with interest in his tight booty shorts, beneath the hem of his bathrobe.

Gueira chuffs with a moan, his head craned forward to watch his own cock bobbing deliciously underneath him, oozing thick tendrils of pre onto the concrete below, while his tail - long, tapered, and soft giving flesh with a firm bony core - works itself in and out of his ass. Each huff sends a plume of steam erupting out of his nostrils and the vents behind his shoulders, the inside of the barn growing steadily more humid and hot with each passing moment, the electric fans that Meis left turned on for him last night doing absolutely nothing to combat the overbearing heat. Meis feels hot, too, his teeth worrying away at his plump lower lip to stifle all the horrible little sounds he wants to make at the sight of his beast, his cock stiffening in his shorts until there’s a tent in the skirt of his bathrobe, which suddenly feels entirely too warm. 

There’s a smell in the barn, too, something like pleasant warm musk and burning sugar turning to rich caramel, and it’s getting stronger with every rhythmic, languid thrust of Gueira’s tail tip into his body, every pulsating throb of his cock, every eruption of steam from the vents that cover his sleek black body. That smell is almost as good as the sight itself, Meis fingers instinctively reaching for his cock before he can stop himself, finding it to be  _ achingly  _ hard. Slender fingers wrap around what of it Meis can reach through his shorts, palming at it tentatively as he watches Gueira pleasure himself. The beast’s tail thrusts harder and his hips twitch in such a way that his cock - as long and thick as Meis’ skinny little wrist, glistening wet with arousal, and dripping like a leaky faucet in the middle of the night - bounces up against his obsidian-black belly with a wet smack, making Gueira snarl in delight. That growl rips right through Meis’ core, his hand eagerly drawing his cock out of his shorts to stroke it faster now, stifling a moan on the palm of his other hand when Gueira huffs again, sending up another plume of steam. Gueira’s growling and snarling and drooling and his cock is dripping and every breath he takes seems to make the burnt-sugar smell stronger…

Meis comes undone in the same instant as Gueira, the singular brain cell still clinging to his sanity privately grateful when the beast’s deafening howl drowns out the sound of Meis’ moan as the familiar sticky warmth of his come drools down between his own fingers. Gueira somehow manages to make  _ less  _ of a mess of himself, his thick cock jumping up against his abdomen with the force of his release, shooting come across the concrete floor in a sloppy wet streak that’s nearly two feet long, some splattering against his sleek black belly as he throws his head back and shamelessly howls. Meis bites his lip, more than a little turned on at how  _ carefree  _ his beast is, not caring that his supposedly sleeping host might hear him coming undone, not caring who overhears him at all, not caring that he’s dumped a quart of hot seed on the floor. How good it would feel to be carefree right there with him…

Meis’ surviving brain cell pipes up that he’s a disgusting pervert and, suddenly blushing furiously, he stuffs his cock back into his shorts, drying his dirty hand on his bathrobe as he starts to walk away, abruptly acutely aware that Gueira is going to catch him in a few seconds time if he doesn’t scram.

Gueira rumbles, his thick tail sliding wetly out of his ass, swaying tentatively in the air behind him. His nostrils are flaring, picking up a new scent underneath the delicious sugary-sweet aroma of his own.

He lifts his head and looks straight back over his shoulder at Meis. Even with his face twisted into an eternal cocky grin, Gueira still manages to look surprised.

The two stare at each other in wordless shock for what feels like forevers - and then Gueira’s teeth close around his many panting tongues in an impish smirk in the same instant that he lifts his tail in obvious, obvious invitation.

Meis stumbles backwards a few feet, turns around, and scurries back to the house without a word, while his internal monologue catches like a broken record, mindlessly repeating,  _ Shit, shit, shit, shit.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: More smut...and more about Gueira's origins, in case you were actually, for some ungodly reason, reading this abomination for the plot. ""Plot.""


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just casually spending my entire day off writing _15 fucking pages_ of monster porn. Y'know, like you do. Enjoy! ;)

Meis stands in the shower for what feels like hours, the cold water cascading down over his fair skin as he threads his fingers through the stringy wet strands of his raven-black hair and lets himself think about  _ what the hell  _ just happened.

There’s a fire-breathing cryptid monster in his barn and he’s spent the past two weeks not only befriending him, but enjoying his company - and now, it’s culminated in him watching him masturbate like a reprobate pervert while he jerks himself off to the sight. What the  _ fuck _ .

And not only had Gueira caught him, but Gueira had reacted as if he  _ liked  _ it. There weren’t many ways to interpret Gueira lifting his tail and flaunting his dwindling, dripping erection and slick asshole at Meis with that smug grin on his face. Was Gueira  _ teasing  _ him? Or did Gueira actually want to…

Meis shoos that thought away in a hurry. He shouldn’t be thinking about these things. And he definitely shouldn’t be watching his only friend here get himself off in the barn, in the wee hours of the morning when he clearly expects Meis to be asleep. And he definitely  _ definitely  _ shouldn’t be privately hoping that it happens again because  _ fuck _ , that was hotter than it had any right to be.  _ Gueira  _ is hotter than he has any right to be. Giant, muscular, clawed, fire-breathing monsters should  _ not  _ be on the list of things that Meis considers hot. And yet, here he is, with only the ice-cold shower above him preventing his traitorous dick from perking up with interest again at the recent memories and eerily  _ delicious  _ fantasies currently bouncing around in Meis’ skull where he could have swore he once had a brain a few days ago. But, that was before he noticed the supple giving flesh of Guiera’s haunches or the way his balls hang in a heavy, soft sac in-between them. Or the way the big beast’s five ruby-red tongues twist and move in his deliciously dangerous, drooly-wet maw.

Meis stops in the middle of scrubbing the sweat out of his hair. Oh, he’s in deep. He’s way, way, way too far gone.

And then, he shrugs and resumes washing his hair, sudsing it up frothy-white before he starts to rinse it, realizing that he really and truly  _ doesn’t care _ . Gueira’s not human, sure, but Gueira is  _ human  _ in a way that Meis isn’t used to: earnest and curious and kind. Gueira’s a better listener than the whole of Meis’ family, and a better friend in just two short weeks than Meis has ever had in his life. He  _ likes  _ Gueira and, goddammit, if that like includes a pointed interest in what those five bright red tongues could do with his slender little body, then so be it. A hard left down degeneracy lane it is. He knows where he’s headed and still lurches for his destination.

Meis turns the shower off and steps out, hair dripping down his back and onto the linoleum, reaching for a nearby towel. Once he’s mostly dry, he combs through his hair and throws it up in a sloppy haphazard bun, still wet. He gets dressed in the same black crop top and booty shorts he’s worn nearly everyday since he met Gueira, grabs his tablet and as many snacks as he can carry, and ventures back outside.

It’s as hot as ever, the morning sun scorching the crispy-brown lawn, the grass so dry that it practically crunches underfoot as Meis walks out to the barn, this time dragging the heavy door closed behind him. The windows let in just enough light for him to see as he makes his way towards Gueira’s makeshift bed, putting his tablet and snacks down on top of an overturned bucket before he calls out, “Gueira?”

“Meis?” comes the rumbling response, like Gueira is surprised to see him - which he supposes he is, after Meis literally ran away from him earlier that morning. 

“Hey, big guy,” Meis says, as casually as he can, tearing open a Twinkie wrapper, “You hungry?”

Gueira emerges from the back of the barn, and Meis is instantly aware of two things: the smell and the heat. It’s that same burning-sugar smell from before, emanating from Gueira in a cloud so thick that it’s almost physical with every panting breath he takes, five tongues all hanging from his open mouth. But now, Gueira is also emanating heat, moreso than usual, plumes of smoke curling upwards from his slit nostrils and the vents that scatter his body. His tongues pull back into his mouth and he swallows hard, then exhales with a release of steam. If Meis didn’t know better, he would say the poor thing was overheating.

Meis steps forward, offering the Twinkie in an outstretched hand. “You okay, big guy? You look...hot.”

“‘m always hot,” Gueira reminds him, as he settles down on his stomach on the cool concrete floor, right between two of the fans Meis hooked up for him. He ignores the offered snack cake, which Meis tentatively bites into himself. Something must be  _ very  _ wrong, if Gueira doesn’t want sweets. Maybe he really  _ is  _ too hot, overheating from within like a faulty car engine. Or maybe he’s sick with some disease that Meis can’t possibly understand. Or maybe…

Meis’ heart sinks. Maybe Gueira is upset with him, for turning his back and running away from him without a word that morning. Or for watching him get off. Either or.

Meis sits beside Gueira, his freshly-showered skin instantly growing sticky-hot with sweat beneath his sparse covering of clothes. The poor thing is  _ sweltering. _ “Here, want the last bite?” he prompts, offering the last of his Twinkie.

“Not hungry for food,” Gueira rumbles, his head rested on his forelimbs. He shudders with a sigh, then stands back up and walks several feet away, tail swaying from side-to-side.

“No food then,” Meis says, feeling completely helpless as he watches Gueira start to pace, “Do ya need some water?”

Gueira shakes his head.

“Watcha need, then? You look...distressed,” Meis comments, “Listen, if this is ‘bout this morning, I’m -”

Gueira shakes himself, growling irritably,  _ “Heat.” _

Meis stares at him. “What? Heat? Are ya too hot? Should I get another fan or…?” He didn’t know what else to do; Gueira is already in the coolest place on the farm, with four fans blowing directly on him, while he’s safe from the direct sunlight inside the shade of the cool, dark barn. Maybe he should stop worrying about the inevitable property damage and just take Gueira inside…

Gueira manages to look frustrated even without much of a face, his snout wrinkling up irritably as his tongues fell back out in a huffing pant, exhaling steam hot enough to burn. “I am  _ in heat _ .”

Meis is silent.

“Time to find mate,” Gueira elaborates, his haunches hitting the cool concrete. He winces, jerking them back up immediately, like it’s uncomfortable for him to sit. “Time to have cubs.”

“Oh. Ohhhhh,” Meis voices understanding, chewing at his lower lip pensively, “So, it’s like...your mating season? You in rut like a bull?”

Gueira nods, smoke curling up from the corners of his mouth, slipping out around bright green fangs, where saliva gathers in pools before it drips down his pointed chin.

“So that’s what’s gotten into ya,” Meis muses, reaching out with both arms, “C’mere.”

Gueira comes, his huge head sliding smoothly into Meis’ hands, the smooth black obsidian of his skin so hot that it almost hurts. Almost, but not quite. In the harsh Texas summer heat, being this close to him is almost unbearable. But, Meis manages just fine, even leaning in to tentatively press his freshly glossed lips to the tip of Gueira’s snout. “Fortunately for you, big guy,” he hums, fingers trailing along the vents in the side of Gueira’s thick neck, “I’m here to help ya out.”

Now it’s Gueira’s turn to stare, gawking eyelessly down at Meis as hooded, blue eyes gaze up at him, lashes batting suggestively. Meis has always been told that he has a wicked set of bedroom eyes, not that he puts them to much use these days. “What?” Gueira rumbles, and Meis almost laughs at how baffled he is.

“Ya need to fuck, right?” Meis offers, “Well, I’m right ‘ere. Fuck me.”

“Y-You?” Gueira actually  _ stutters _ , and it’s cuter than Meis expected.

“Yeah, would ya like that, big guy?” Meis prompts, pressing another kiss to Gueira’s snout, “Ya seemed to like the idea plenty this mornin’.” 

Gueira huffs like he’s embarrassed, sweat springing up in beads on Meis’ forehead as hot air hits his face like a wall. “Watchin’ me.”

“Yeah, I was watchin’ ya,” Meis admits, “Sorry. I just...couldn’t look away, I guess. You’re real…” He searches for the right word.  _ “Mesmerizin’.” _

Gueira makes a sound like laughter, and then one of those ruby-red tongues is curling up underneath Meis’ jaw, streaking his sweaty skin with saliva. It feels agonizingly warm in the dry stuffy heat of the summer afternoon, but it only makes Meis moan. The Texas summer feels almost cool compared to the heat bubbling up from his depths now, making the bottom of his stomach feel uncomfortably tight and warm and fluttery. That tongue works its way down to his collarbone, flicking across the little divot there before it draws away to smack across his glowering fangs in a clear expression of hunger. Meis grins impishly, grabbing Gueira by the bright red of his jaw and dragging his huge head down for the closest thing they can manage to a kiss, Meis’ mouth stretched wide around one of Gueira’s probing, hot tongues as it glides smoothly against his, rolling right up against his esophagus until he’s about to gag. He swallows his gag reflex and reels Gueira in closer, smacking his lips wetly against that huge, hot tongue. Two others flank it, lapping mindlessly at Meis’ cheeks, neck, and jaw until he’s streaked with hot, slick saliva, finally pulling away with a string of it still connecting them tongue-to-tongue. Gueira tastes like he smells - musky but sweet, otherworldly and wild - and it’s a flavor Meis could get absolutely addicted to.

Meis breaks the string of saliva drawn between them with a swipe of his little pink tongue across his lips, and Gueira whines. 

“Easy,” Meis coos, his southern drawl more prominent when he’s horny, “Easy, big fella. We’ll get there. Lemme enjoy ya first.”

Panting, Gueira watches eyelessly as Meis leans back and shrugs his crop top off of his shoulders, bringing it over his head and tossing it aside. Underneath, his paper-white skin shines with sweat, quickly joined by saliva as Gueira flicks three slobbery tongues up the length of Meis’ chest, rolling over pinkish nipples pierced with little silver barbels. Meis moans, shamelessly aroused by the hot rush of Gueira’s breath as he quite literally salivates over him (he’ll take that as a compliment), rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth glowering green in the semi-darkness of the barn, right up against his throat and yet never touching him. He lifts a hand to trail his fingers through a sticky trail of saliva as Gueira laps at him, five tongues feeling up his neck, his collar, his chest, his everything, finding it to be the consistency of oil, thick and slippery when he stretches a sheen of it between two spread fingers. Well, isn’t that convenient.

Gueira holds still just long enough for Meis to press a kiss to two of his tongues, grabbing his jaw to hold him still while he looks at him. “Ya gotta go easy on me, yeah? I’m whole lot smaller than ya,” he says.

“Be gentle,” Gueira agrees with a subtle nod, which sends beads of saliva splattering against Meis’ bare chest, “Be so gentle with mate.”

“That’s right, good boy,” Meis says, and then he’s kissing the big beast again, full of tongue and teeth and slick monster saliva, until his lips are bruised and red. All the while, he’s keenly aware of the searing heat blossoming across his depths, blood rushing from his brain straight into his quickly stiffening cock. Gueira has one clawed hand on the small of his back now, holding him close while Meis’ little pink tongue tangles hopelessly with one of Gueira’s, so Meis lets go of him just long enough to hook his fingers in the belt loops of his denim booty shorts and tug them down to his knees, kicking until they’re flying off his ankles and hitting the floor somewhere behind them, where Gueira’s tail is slapping against the floor like an excited puppy’s. Underneath, a black thong sits high up on his slender hips, doing very little to conceal his aching erection as it leaks pre down the length of his inner thigh.

Gueira pauses mid-lick, nostrils flaring. His head drops lower in interest, snuffling eagerly along Meis’ chest and stomach in a way that almost tickles, until he reaches Meis’ straining erection, those five tongues momentarily tucked away into a green grin full of teeth. There’s one terrifying instant where Meis’ surviving brain cell pipes up that Gueira could totally bite his entire dick off by mistake - and then Gueira’s tongues are all over his cock and it’s all velvety-smooth, wet heat and Meis is moaning too loud to hear himself think to begin with.

“Feels so fuckin’ good…,” Meis pants, lips parting around a moan as he reclines on his hands, hips bucking mindlessly up into the tangling, twisting warmth of Gueira’s tongues as they twine and twirl around him, until his cock is shiny-wet with a sheen of drool.

And then, suddenly, Meis is being turned over, finding himself face-down in the scattered hay and old blankets of Gueira’s makeshift bed while huge clawed hands drag his hips upwards. His cock suddenly feels cold in the absence of Gueira’s heat, but it only lasts for a hot second before those tongues are back, lapping eagerly at cock, balls, taint…

Meis thinks he screams a little when one of those tongues suddenly presses against his asshole, pushing up against the tight pucker with clear intent to penetrate him. Whatever sound he makes must be at least a little alarming, because Gueira instantly stops, those tongues tugging away momentarily to instead ask, “Okay?”

“I-I’m more than okay, bud,” Meis pants, his own tongue hanging from his mouth now, any trace of his lip gloss long since licked off, the lingering shimmer from it tracked down his wet chin, “It feels so good! Keep goin’! I’ll tell ya if I need to stop!”

Gueira nods, and then those hot tongues are back, slathering over Meis’ straining cock, one pressing pointedly against his perineum until he answers with a sharp keen, another trailing along his tight pucker until the resistance gives in around it, sending it plunging inches deep in Meis’ ass. Meis moans without abandon, his hips twitching blindly into Gueira’s wondrous heat while every panting breath fills his lungs with Gueira, Gueira,  _ Gueira… _

The tongue in his ass rolls right up against his prostate and he comes undone with a shout.

Meis finds himself suddenly aching empty as that hot tongue slithers out of him, to instead glide up the length of his spine, lapping the sweet off his skin oh-so-sweetly. Underneath him, a second tongue tenderly wipes away the come he streaked across his own stomach, Gueira keening in satisfaction at the taste. Somewhere along the way, his thong ended up around his knees, Gueira’s claws tentatively tugging at it now. Meis relents, lifting his hips so Gueira can remove the offending garment, expecting the big beast will want to continue right away.

Instead, Gueira lays down on his stomach beside him, that huge head slipping between Meis’ arms until he hugs it. Gueira lowers his head, bringing Meis down in the hay beside him, the straw unpleasant and spiny against his tender bare skin, but he hardly notices, soaking in the liquid-sunshine heat that is Gueira’s flank, a huge black arm wrapped around his waist as his beast holds him close. 

It takes a few minutes - a few hazy, blissful minutes - for Meis’ head to clear enough that he can finally think again. The first thing he notices is the smell - suffocatingly sweet, with an underlying touch of musk that makes his mouth involuntarily water - and then the sweet, hot heat of Gueira’s cock pressing against his backside, but making no effort to enter him. Gueira is letting him rest, his snout nuzzling sweetly up against Meis’ neck with what can only be a purr. 

“That was fuckin’ great,” Meis tells him, pecking the side of that massive black snout, “So good to me, Gueira. Such a good boy.”

Gueira’s tail smacks the concrete in delight, one tongue tentatively rolling along Meis’ lips. This is the closest he can come to a kiss. Meis just chuckles, pressing his lips to the hot, wet flesh without abandon. “But you still need some help with that big ol’ monster cock of yours, don’t ya? C’mere, Gueira, lemme take care of ya. Real, real good care of ya.”

Gueira’s tail thumps faster now, this time in excitement as Meis shrugs his arm off of him and pushes on his flank, until he rolls over onto his back, straining erection pointing skyward. Meis throws a leg over him, straddling the girth of his smooth, black stomach as well as he can, face-to-face for the first time with what Gueira is packing.

Gueira is easily the length of Meis’ forearm and just as wide around, pulsing and throbbing and the same bright red as his horns. He tapers to a narrow head, currently dripping pre, the underside of his length lined with soft fleshy nubs that remind Meis of those on a high-end fantasy dildo, transitioning into firmer, harder ridges towards the base, which is thicker and fuller than the rest of it. His balls look tighter and heavier than usual, positioned right behind the swollen, puffy slit from which his cock emerged. Meis whistles, chuckling softly, “Impressive set o’ equipment ya got down here, bud.”

Gueira huffs. Meis laughs, wrapping slender fingers around the base of the beast’s cock and bending forward, brushing his bangs behind his ear as he guides the head of it into his mouth. The first time his tongue touches Gueira’s length, it almost burns, scaldingly hot, pre tasting smoky-sweet and delicious, but the longer Meis’ mouth lingers on it, the easier it is, his tongue acclimating to the heat as it slides against it. Meis licks a line down the underside of Gueira’s cock, feeling the base swell in his fist, before he returns to the heat, mouthing at it sweetly, slurping purposefully, and finally pressing it between his lips, stretching them wide.

Meis sinks four inches down on Gueira’s cock and the monster’s entire body rumbles with a snarl that Meis feels more than he hears, vibrating up through his thighs where he straddles the beast’s body. He might smirk, if his lips weren’t stretched taut into an O around the massive monster cock, swallowing hard to fight back his gag reflex as he presses it further in, until he can feel Gueira in the back of his throat and can’t take it anymore. He jerks his head back, bringing wet, slick warmth with him, picking up a steady rhythm of back and forth, back and forth, until Gueira’s ruby-red cock is glistening with saliva and the beast is mewling like a kitten underneath him. Meis regrets not facing the other direction, wondering just what Gueira’s face must look like at a time like this. He shudders, his own dick perking back up already, either because of the pheromones Gueira is pumping into the room or because this is just that hot. Drool tracks down his chin from the corners of his lips, his eyes watering with the sheer size of the dick in his mouth as he bobs on it, pulling away only when he needs a breath of air - air that smells deliciously like his Gueira.

Gueira is panting. Meis steals a glance at him over his slender pointed shoulder, smirking in satisfaction when he sees the beast’s gaping jaws, all five tongues lolling out of them as he mindlessly drools. “Why stop?” Gueira demands.

Meis chuckles. “Cuz I don’t want ya to blow before the main event, yeah? I bet ya come buckets, an’ I want every ounce o’ it up my tight lil’ ass.”

In Meis’ hand, Gueira’s cock pointedly twitches. He laughs, rewarding it with a gentle squeeze. “That’s right, I’m gonna ride this fat cock like my fuckin’ life depends on it, Gueira. Ya like that? Ya want me on your cock?”

Gueira’s tail answers for him, thumping loudly against the slab floor. Grinning, Meis cranes forward to mouth at the head of the beast’s cock, clever little tongue flicking along the slit to lap away syrupy precome, stretching his legs out behind him. “Here, get me nice an’ wet again,” he says. A moment later, clawed hands take his hips, carefully guiding them downwards until he feels the familiar, slick heat of Guiera’s maw. The first tongue glides up the cleft of his ass, his moan muffled on a mouthful of monster cock, vibrating along its length and making Gueira exhale a hot huff between his legs, suffocatingly wet and hot on his dick. Meis cups Gueira’s balls in one hand, the other still wrapped around the base of his cock, giving them a gentle squeeze and feeling them clench in response to his touch. That thick tongue slides into him without resistance this time, delving into his deepest reaches to brush up against his prostate and make him gasp and sigh. This time, it’s quickly joined by a second, then a third, warm velvety softness stretching his rim to its limit and beyond.

A tongue presses into his prostate hard enough to make Meis sees stars, his lips popping off of Guiera’s cock with a comical wet pop and a sharp gasp of pleasure. “G-Gueira,” he pants hoarsely, accent thick, “Need ya to fuck me. Now.”

Tail slapping against the concrete, Gueira is more than happy to oblige, his huge hands encircling Meis’ waist to lift him as he sits upright with the little human in his lap. When he sits like this, he almost looks like a person - a huge, hulking beast of a person, but still. His clawed hands knead happily at Meis’ cushy backside, repositioning the man to face him. The four smaller tongues peel away from his larger center one, to give it more space to lap almost tenderly along Meis’ lips, until they part enough for it to delve between them. Meis reaches for his jaw, holding his beast close as he swallows up his tongue, the monster’s cock gliding wetly along the cleft of his ass down below, while Meis’ pretty pink cock bobs in the welcome warmth that rolls off of Gueira’s belly in waves.

Gueira comes away with a gasping pant, the bridge of his snout wrinkled as he swipes a tongue along it. “Need to fuck you,” he pants in his gravelly growl of a voice, “Fuck you now. Be so gentle with mate.”

Meis is past caring if Gueira is gentle with him or not. “Y-Yeah, fuck me, please, please…,” he drawls, more arousal than rational thought now.

An achingly hot tongue rolls over Meis’ jaw as Gueira’s hands lower him, the tapered head of his cock pressing up against his wet rim. The tip of that tongue flicks over Meis’ ear, dragging carefully along his many piercings, the beast growling against it,  _ “Beg.” _

Meis’ cock twitches between them, leaking pre as he whimpers, “P-Please, Gueira. Please fuck me. Please.”

Growling, Gueira slathers twisting twin tongues down Meis’ throat to his shoulder, lapping at it sweetly. “Beg harder, mate.”

“W-What are you now, Australian?” Meis almost chuckles, before Gueira’s cock head presses into him and he breaks off in a ragged moan, “O-Oh, please! Fuck! Gueira!”

“Be gentle,” Gueira promises, clawed hands tightening ever so slightly around Meis’ waist, before he lets him slide down on his cock. Meis trembles with a moan as that impossibly thick cock spears him, inch after inch after inch sinking into his willing body until he feels full to bursting, his own dick bobbing helplessly between them. When he’s only three-quarters of the way in, Gueira pauses, squeezing softly at Meis’ waist, chin rested on his slender shoulder as he tongues tenderly at his throat. “Okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” Meis sighs, breathless, “Better than okay. ‘m great, that feels awesome. Fuck. Gimme more, c’mon.”

The barrel chest before him rumbles with laughter, and then Meis is sliding the rest of the way down on Gueira’s cock, filled to the brim. One of his hands is still stroking lightly along Gueira’s ruby-red jaw, the other slowly lowering to feel his stomach, already knowing that he’ll find a sizable bulge pressing taut through the skin there. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “You’re s-so fuckin’ big, Gueira. Shit,” he bumbles mindlessly, Gueira whimpering in delight as he gropes his belly bulge.

“Feels good,” Gueira agrees, “So good. Very good. Good mate.”

Meis chuckles, hoisting himself up enough to peck Gueira’s snout, before he slides back down on the last few inches of that cock, suddenly realizing that all of it isn’t inside him. The base has swollen impossibly large, almost as big around as a softball, nestled between Meis’ cheeks but never entering him. But, he doesn’t have a moment more to think about it, before Gueira is gripping his hips tight enough for his claws to sink into his skin, only just gently enough not to break it, and pulling him up, then pushing him back down on his cock. Meis’ vision flashes white with stars and he thinks he might have screamed, he isn’t sure. What he does know is, Gueira feels incredible,  _ beyond _ incredible, absolutely otherworldly and fantastic.

Gueira seems to think so, too, panting and huffing and growling. Drool splatters thick and hot between Meis’ shoulder blades from where Gueira’s chin is rested on his shoulder, Meis’ arms involuntarily flying around Gueira’s thick neck for traction as he’s taken for the ride of his life, chipped black fingernails digging harmlessly into the beast’s hard black armor, feeling along the dips and ridges of charcoal-colored scutes that are blazingly hot with arousal. The vents between Gueira’s shoulders erupt with a hot blast of steam, the air immediately that much thicker with his delicious burnt-sugar scent, the inside of the barn suddenly feeling very hot and humid, the air thick and nearly palpible as it heaves in and out of Meis’ lungs, each thrust of Guiera’s massive cock into him sending it rushing out of him in a breathless moan.

_ “Mine,”  _ Gueira snarls in Meis’ ear, and it’s all Meis can do not to come right then and there, shuddering with a moan as thick flexible tongues roam his neck and shoulders and the crook behind his ear, as if to memorize every inch of him. No partner Meis has ever had has been even half as thorough as Gueira, the monster’s many tongues swiping red-hot over erogenous zones while his claws send raw red bruises blossoming up around his waist and thighs and the thick throbbing heat of his cock glides in and out of him, every thrust sending it brushing breathtakingly up against his prostate. “Mine,” Gueira growls again, and Meis feels his voice vibrating up through his chest more than he actually hears it now, feeling like he may melt right into the monster’s body where they’re pressed together, “Mine, mine, mine…”

“Yours,” Meis pants, unable to say anything more besides the occasional moan or whisper of Gueira’s name like a prayer, like a reverence, only dimly aware of that thick fat base of Gueira’s cock pressing harder and faster against his rim with every thrust as streams of smoke fill the air around him. In the back of his mind, Meis is silently glad that they’re aren’t smoke detectors in the barn.

“Need to knot,” Gueira huffs, Meis’ body bouncing easily in his lap as he thrusts in and out of him, hastening his pace now, panting and slobbering and looking every bit the beast he is. 

“Need to what?” Meis asks, feeling that swollen hot base grinding against him again, seeking refuge. He groans, grip tightening on the back of Gueira’s neck. “B-Big!”

“Need to knot mate,” Gueira rumbles in his ear, voice more pant and growl than anything now, “Need to bite you.”

_ That  _ gets Meis’ attention, his squeezed-tight eyes jumping wide open as he tries to shove away from Guiera’s chest, only for clawed hands to hold him tight. “Guiera! You can’t bite me, you’ll snap my neck!”

Gueira manages to look at him pleadingly even without eyes. “Please. Be gentle. Be very gentle with mate.”

Meis’ heart is pounding like thunder in his ribcage, rattling up into his throat. He swallows it back, fingers stiffly uncurling from where they’re clutching at Gueira’s neck to slowly venture up to his jaw, cupping it gently. He looks the monster in...where his eyes  _ would  _ be, knowing that Gueira can still see him clearly even without, and frowns sternly. “Okay. I trust you. Don’t make me regret it, Gueira.”

Delighted, Gueira whimpers like an excitable puppy, tongues flitting up over Meis’ face in a sloppy wet lick that leaves him dripping and disgusting, but Meis wouldn’t have it any other way, wiping his face on the back of his arm before he reaches for Gueira’s shoulders again. Something tells him he’s going to need the handhold.

Tongues roll sloppy-wet over Meis’ pointed shoulder, right where the bulge of the muscle meets his collarbone, and then Gueira’s massive jaws are clamping down on him. Meis yelps at the sudden hot burst of pain, but it’s hard to focus on that for long, with a thick hot length surging in and out of him at break-neck speed now, sending up bouncing upwards with every hard thrust. The bite is over as soon as it came, Gueira’s jagged green teeth peeling away from him and leaving the junction of his neck and shoulder throbbing with an elongated semi-circle of bloody little wounds. As fast as the blood flows, Gueira laps it away, his motions suddenly tender and slow, his hands dragging Meis down on his cock slowly and deliberately as he nurses the wound he created, until his thick saliva is prompting the blood to clot and not a drop of it remains. Meis is about to ask why, when Gueira knocks the breath right out of his lungs with a sudden hard thrust that sends that swollen fat knot at the base of his cock popping wetly into his ass. He’s coming in an instant, vision flashing white and mind spinning in dizzying circles as he releases across Gueira’s stomach, where his come sizzles like water in a hot frying pain, his fingers digging into the beast’s hard black flesh harmlessly. Try as he might, he’ll never leave a bruise on Gueira, but Gueira will sure as  _ hell  _ leave plenty of bruises on him.

Gueira must have come, too, because the next thing Meis is aware of is the sensation of  _ a lot  _ of hot come pumping into him, in thick hot spurts that make him moan all on their own. He presses his forehead into Gueira’s barrel chest as he’s filled, trembling and sweating and on the brink of overheating, he’s sure, clinging tighter to the monster even though he’s the reason he’s so hot to begin with. He feels his bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat as he focuses on the explosive orgasm filling him to the brim, going on for what feels like  _ minutes  _ before it finally comes to a halt. Meis is sure there must be come dripping down between them, but there isn’t, Gueira’s knot keeping it tightly sealed inside and, when Meis tries to move, keeping them tightly locked together. Meis huffs, suddenly acutely aware of just how  _ hot  _ it is in the barn, the air stuffy and suffocating, Gueira’s chest smoldering against his.

A single tongue delicately swipes his bangs out of his face, lapping away sweat and tears that Meis didn’t realize he had shed, his eyes watering from the intensity of everything that had just happened, his mind tripping over itself to catch up. He fucked Gueira. Oh god, he fucked Gueira.

And Gueira seems  _ very  _ pleased with the fact, his tongues peppering little lick-kisses all over Meis’ neck and shoulders while a rumbling purr vibrates in his throat, before he finally holds Meis close and lets them both lie down, tightly tied together until his knot decides to free them. Meis can only sigh as he catches his breath, relieved when he feels the cool touch of the concrete floor underneath him, in stark contrast to the blazing-hot chest pressed against his front.

Gueira is still tenderly nursing him with his tongue, paying especially close attention to the bite wound on his shoulder that is, to Meis’ alarm,  _ already healing  _ before his very eyes, when he finally speaks up, “Okay?”

“Okay? Shit, babe, I’m  _ more  _ than okay, fuck,” Meis replies, chuckling airily, fingers curiously exploring the flat, hard planes of Gueira’s chest, where he boasts the defined pecs of a biped despite primarily walking on all fours, “That was so good, Gueira. So good.”

“Hurt?” Gueira asks.

Meis laughs. “Oh, I’m sure I will come mornin’, but I ain’t worried ‘bout that right now. Might have a bruise or two, but I usually do after havin’ sex. No big deal.”

Gueira’s tongues  _ finally  _ slide back into his maw, his glowering green teeth closing in a smug grin. He seems beyond pleased with himself, his pointed snout nosing underneath Meis’ chin until his little human starts to chuckle, smiling as he pushes his head away.

It’s then that Meis notices that Gueira is staring at him. “What?” he asks.

“Mate is beautiful,” Gueira rumbles, dipping his muzzle back down to Meis’ shoulder to tenderly lap at the bite mark now left there, “Most beautiful.”

Meis only laughs. “Glad ya think so, bud. But I must look like a hot mess right now.”

“No,” Gueira says, “Beautiful. Most beautiful.”

Meis doesn’t know why, but it almost makes him blush, as if he didn’t currently have Gueira’s ungodly-large dick crammed up his ass, along with enough come that he swears he can hear it slosh when he moves, but maybe he’s just imagining that last bit.

It’s half an hour later when Gueira’s knot relaxes enough for it to squeeze out of Meis, with a sloppy rush of come that streams down his thighs in rivulets. But Meis is too tired to care now, lurching for his now lukewarm bottled water and downing the entire thing in a few gulps, before Gueira’s clawed hand is dragging him back down into his makeshift bed to resume cuddling. It might have been beautiful domestic bliss, if not for the sweltering heat hemmed up in the barn with them, Gueira’s burnt-sugar scent now seeming entirely too sweet. Eventually, Meis tells him he has to get up, if only so he can open the door to the barn and let some fresh air in. 

Gueira seems much better after that, eagerly accepting the bucket of water Meis fetches for him and draining the entire thing in twenty seconds. Meis refills it, and he drinks that one, too. He scratches Gueira underneath the chin, then excuses himself for a shower, grateful that there are no neighbors around for miles when he stalks across the backyard naked. A shower, a bowl of cereal, and two bottles of water later, Meis finally returns, finding Gueira rolling in the muddy wetness of the dried dead lawn after somehow getting the sprinkler on. 

“Gueira,” Meis calls, “Stop that, you’re runnin’ up the water bill! Get over ‘ere.”

Meis turns the sprinkler off, but not before Gueira rushes over to lick him a few more times, like he hasn’t had his slobbery tongues on Meis enough today. Meis gives him a good-natured shove, grinning, before leading him back inside the barn, where the fans are still running full-blast. It’s much cooler without Gueira breathing down his backside, but after their  _ literal  _ roll in the hay, the straw is in dire need of a change, so Meis spends the next hour sweeping it out the back of the barn and replacing it, along with all the stained and ruined old blankets. Gueira tries and fails to help, but Meis appreciates the thought, eventually plunking down on a bale of hay and reaching for his fortunately-still-charged tablet.

Gueira comes in and lays down beside him, his enormous body curling around Meis’ perch in a way that feels almost protective. Meis leans back on him, finding that he’s cooled down significantly now that he’s, uh,  _ bred _ , tapping the Netflix app icon and queing up a TV show for them to watch for a bit.

It isn’t long before he hears the familiar rumbling snore of Gueira beside him. He pauses the show, double-checks that Gueira is actually asleep, and then pulls up a web browser and keys in  _ The Miami Monster. _ He’s instantly gratified with a dozen blog posts and pages on kooky cryptozoology sites about the Miami Monster, an elusive cryptid believed to be of Floridian origin, known to prey on livestock, especially sheep and cattle, and have the ability to start fires when it feels threatened. There are even a few blurry photos of glimpses of Gueira’s anatomy, taken as he flees the scene or is partially concealed behind something, but still unmistakably Gueira - but no information on him that Meis doesn’t already know. Oh well, he thinks as he closes the browser and clicks his tablet to locked, suddenly realizing how tired and drained he feels, even though it’s barely forty-thirty. Gueira really did a number on him, he realizes, trying to find a position that’s even a little comfortable for his poor battered ass. He’ll be leaking that dumbass’ come for days.

Meis sits his tablet aside, sliding off of the bale of hay to instead curl up against Gueira’s side, nestling into the warm familiarity of his flank. The blazing warmth of him, the sharp points of his scutes, the crackle of the fire blazing within him that Meis can hear through his obsidian-black skin...all of it feels so comforting and familiar to Meis now, like something he’s always known, always needed, always wanted even when he denied it. He’s never had a boyfriend before, and a  _ giant fire-breathing monster boyfriend  _ is one hell of a place to start. He doesn’t even want to think about how the summer will soon come to an end and he’ll have to return home and he can’t take Gueira with him, frowning and squeezing his eyes closed tighter and gripping helplessly at the monster’s side as he shoos the thought away with a sigh.

As Meis drifts into slumber, he’s completely unaware of his tablet lighting up beside him, the lockscreen flitting away without a passcode, bringing up his system settings and switching his location services to  _ on. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please tell Meis' uncle that he's _shit_ at taking care of the farm, it's 4:30PM and this asshole hasn't even fed the animals. >:(
> 
> Next Chapter: Inevitably, more porn. Also, Gueira has a surprise for Meis.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I wasn't going to work on this for a hot minute since I'm not in a great place mentally right now and this week marked the one-year anniversary of something very painful for me, and yet...here we are. This chapter is a bit more slice of life, just because.

It’s dark when Meis wakes. The barn is almost entirely pitch-black, except for the silvery moonlight that oozes in through the windows and open bay door, casting everything in a stark outline of ghostly white. He blinks the bleariness from his eyes, sore in places he didn’t even know he had. He feels every bit like he’s been hit by a truck - a sexy, slobbery, monster of a truck, but still.

The warmth encompassing him from behind is reassuring, Meis smiling faintly into the blackness as he turns in Gueira’s arms to face him.

A handsome human face looks back at him, eyes peacefully closed in slumber, beneath a crescent moon of dark lashes and a shaggy mop of reddish hair that looks dark in the night, a curly fringe of bangs parting around two glowering red horns that curve upwards from his forehead.

Meis scrambles away with a sharp gasp. “G-Gueira?”

The other man looks at him, awake in an instant, squinting in confusion as Meis scurries away from him backwards, until his back meets the bales of hay stacked in the back of the barn and he can go no further. The man’s eyes are a smoldering amber, burning through the darkness like lit coals, and when he laughs, he flashes Meis a mouthful of sharp teeth that glower green in the night like they’re radioactive, bleeding into the red light cast from his curving horns. “Hello, beloved,” he says, in a voice smooth like velvet with the slightest gravely undertone, seething through his teeth like a familiar snarl, “Did I frighten you? I’m sorry.”

“W-What happened?” Meis stammers, eyes wide in alarm.

Gueira looks at him, frowning softly, then sits up and motions him over. “Come here, beloved. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Meis hesitates, then slowly slides over to the redheaded man, who envelops him in an embrace that’s as warm as fire right away, the blazing inferno of his chest undeniably familiar even though it’s changed shape beyond all recognition. Gueira’s arms hold him close, squeezing him gently, as a purr rumbles up from his throat.

“You weren’t afraid of me as a monster,” Gueira muses, lips right up against his ear, “but you’re cowering away from me in this form like it’s the scariest thing you’ve ever seen. What’s wrong, love?” He smooths his fingers over Meis’ cheek, turning it to face him. Those amber eyes burn into his imploringly.

“Y-Ya startled me, that’s all,” Meis says, “What happened?”

“I thought it would be nice to take a form where I could talk to you,” Gueira remarks, “Really  _ talk  _ to you, in something more than broken English. And besides...I should take the form of my mate sometimes, so I can hold you without fear of crushing you. And now I have  _ lips _ , Meis. Do you know what that means?”

Meis quips a brow. Gueira smiles, chuckling throatly, and cups his cheek, guiding him into a kiss that’s full of supple, soft lips and no slobbery tongues. It lasts only a moment, but it’s long enough to make Meis’ heart ache, if only a little.

“I’m sorry, beloved, it was hard to tell you everything in my true form,” Gueira says, “It’s a lot of strain on my vocal cords to even speak, much less at length. But now, I can tell you everything. Let’s start with what you’re probably wondering: how did this happen? Us Burnish are shape-shifters. Our fire can burn us right to ashes and rebuild us as something completely new, if we have the blueprint for it. And by  _ blueprint _ , I mean, I need to borrow a bit of your DNA. That’s why I…”

His fingers trail down the side of Meis’ throat, to stroke tenderly along the semicircle of pinpricks now scabbed over and nearly healed, where Gueira had bitten him before. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I hope it didn’t hurt too badly.”

“It didn’t,” Meis mutters, fingers playing across Gueira’s collarbone, feeling the dips and divots of his human skin. Even now, he’s scorching hot.

“You took it like a champ,” Gueira says, grinning as he presses his forehead to Meis’, “Consider me impressed. That’s an invitation I’ve never gotten from a  _ human  _ before.”

Meis chuckles, smiling timidly. Somehow, Gueira feels different now that he’s not the monster, but it’s still his Gueira, he reminds himself. “What? Not all humans offer ya a piece o’ their ass when ya get hot an’ horny?”

“I was  _ in heat _ ,” Gueira corrects him, chuckling, and then those amber eyes are boring into Meis, “and I will be for three to four more days, or until I’m  _ thoroughly  _ satisfied.”

Giggling, Meis circles a fingertip around Gueira’s nipple, just feather-light enough to tease. “Lucky for you, I like it plenty rough.”

Clawed hands squeeze Meis’ buttocks, kneading them lightly. “Are you going to finally invite me inside now, beloved?” he asks, “Or am I going to have to keep fucking you right here in the dirt, like the filthy little animal you are?”

Meis whistles, long and low. “Filthy little animal, huh? Jeez, I think I liked ya better when ya couldn’t run your mouth so much, babe.”

“So mean,” Gueira chuckles, chasing kisses down Meis’ paper-white throat, which nearly glows in the silvery moonlight, “You’re so beautiful...how did I get so lucky…”

“Dunno,” Meis teases, giggling when Gueira licks a hot stripe along his collarbone, exhaling hot breath along his tender skin, littered with little bruises from the rough-housing Gueira’s tongues had given him before, “Ya just showed up here an’ started eatin’ my sheep an’ shit. Ya probably showed up at the only house in the whole countryside that wouldn’t just shoot ya on sight for eatin’ their livestock. And, y’know, for bein’ a monster.”

“I said I was sorry,” Gueira remarks, but when his smoldering eyes peer up at Meis through the semi-darkness, they’re lighting up with an easygoing smile, “And right now...there’s something else I would much rather eat than your scrawny excuses for sheep. They weren’t even good.”

Meis tsk’s, clicking his tongue. “So, ya ate ‘em for nothin’. For shame, Gueira,” he teases, already leaning back into the mass of straw and blankets as Gueira grips his ankles and guides his legs up, until they’re wrapping around the back of his neck, fingers hooking under the waistband of those stupid denim booty shorts that looked  _ infuriatingly  _ good on Meis’ ass.

“Let’s not talk about my crimes against sheepkind while I devour you, beloved,” Gueira teases right back, guiding those stupid shorts down Meis’ long, lithe legs, just far enough that he can spread his cheeks and survey the damage with an impressed whistle, “You really did take it like a champ, love. You’re still so loose and slick...I bet I could slide right into you right now, and fuck you ‘til sunrise.”

“Please don’t,” Meis half-moans, half-sighs, “I’m beat an’ I wanna go inside an’ take a nap before I have to do shit. Just one round. Please.”

Gueira laughs throatily. “Anything for you, Meis,” he muses, those rumbling chuckles of his vibrating right up against Meis’ soft shaft, teasing it to the very beginnings of hardness, before a singular pink tongue slides out from between his soft human lips to lick a stripe up its length. Meis whimpers, still sensitive from the vision-blurring orgasm Gueira had given him earlier.

“Aww,” Meis remarks, “Only one tongue?”

Gueira peers up at him, quirking a brow as he twirls his tongue around Meis’ cock head, lapping tenderly at the slit. “What? Does my little mate want more than one?”

Grinning impishly, Meis gives a quick nod.

Gueira makes an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes and then his mouth is suddenly engulfed in flickering bright red flames, the same neon-red as his horns. Meis jumps visibly, startled, but wherever the fire touches his skin, it doesn’t burn him at all. It only feels pleasantly warm. But, before Meis can ask about it, five familiar long, drooly tendrils are forming out of Gueira’s maw, glowering bright white for a moment before they solidify into tongues. Meis is moaning before they even touch him, rolling over his cock as one, slobbery and wet and delicious.

“My mate is such a pervert,” Gueira chuckles, pausing his administrations to instead tease at Meis’ inner thigh with the tip of each tongue, “I’m beginning to think you were only attracted to me because I was a big sexy monster with a big drooly maw. Are you still gonna be able to get it up for me, now that I’m just a lowly everyday human?”

Meis casts a hand back over his forehead dramatically, feigning misery. “Oh, if I  _ must _ . But only cuz I don’t think I could handle ya in your monster form again right now. You were  _ really  _ big.”

Gueira chuckles, nosing along Meis’ inner thigh before two fingers reach out to spread him, giving his stretched rim a gentle lap with his five tongues. “And I painted the walls in here, too. Do you still need me to prepare you, love?”

“Doubt it,” Meis mumbles, before Gueira’s tongues are twisting around his budding erection and his vision is flashing white and he’s singing with a moan.

“Ah,” the redhead sighs happily against his cock, “I love your voice.”

“An’ you’ll be hearin’ it a lot more if ya quit talkin’ and start fuckin’ me,” Meis teases, cracking open an eye he didn’t realize he had squeezed closed. Gueira rumbles with a laugh, then rises off his knees to kiss Meis on his lips instead. Part of Meis misses the huge tongues slithering halfway down his throat as Gueira kisses him. Part of him thinks that this is actually nice, those smaller tongues now tucked away as Gueira tenderly kisses him. It’s been so long since somebody’s kissed him, and never even half as good.

Gueira comes away with another contented sigh. “Ready?”

“Please,” Meis agrees, and then his ankles are crossing behind Gueira’s back as the redhead shoves into him and immediately starts to thrust, dragging a languid moan from his lips that he swiftly silences with a bruising kiss.

Meis quickly discovers that, monster or man, Gueira fucks like a piledriver. 

* * *

Meis was wrong. One round wasn’t nearly enough.

The first light of dawn is streaking honey-golden across the dried dead lawn as he trudges back towards the house, with his discarded clothes tucked under his arm, his entire ass out in the foggy morning air, and his dignity long-gone somewhere back at the barn. And for the first time, when he opens the back door and steps inside, Gueira is right there with him, slipping into the house with his shoulders high and his head low and his eyes darting from here to there like a cautious animal’s. He regards everything they pass with the caution of a circus animal suddenly returned to the wild, eying it like it’s all something he’s never seen before and is entirely unsure of. They pass through the living room and a clock strikes the hour. Gueira jumps.

Meis chuckles and reassures him with a kiss to the cheek. “C’mon. Ain’t nothin’ in here gonna hurt ya, babe. Ya wanna take a shower?” He pauses, suddenly thoughtful, with his lips lingering on Gueira’s stubbly face - which, in the daylight, he notices for the first time is dappled with freckles and a pinkish scar that streaks across the bridge of his nose. “Wait, can ya even take a shower? Or will it like...put you out?”

Now, it’s Gueira’s turn to laugh, fingers tenderly brushing up against Meis’ cheek as he touches their foreheads together, those amber eyes even more suffocatingly beautiful in daylight. “Of course I can, beloved. Lead the way.”

Gueira is at least familiar enough with the stairs to scale them without issue, following Meis upstairs to the second-floor bathroom, where he drops his clothes in a heap by the door and starts the shower. He runs the water cold, his skin sticky with a day’s worth of sweat, warm to his core about his long night with beautiful, delicious, fiery Gueira. He takes the time to brush his teeth, because his breath must stink of semen and sex right now, and then he’s slipping into the wonderful cold spray of water, rinsing the sweat out of his hair...and the  _ monster come  _ out of his ass, spreading his cheeks accordingly. It makes Gueira chuckle as he slips in behind him, still as naked as the day he was born, immediately brushing his lips up against Meis’ temple in a kiss.

“Ain’t you sick of me?” Meis teases, smiling tiredly behind a curtain of wet black hair, the water around them running murky grey after hours spent rolling around together on the dirty barn floor.

“Never,” Gueira purrs, and then he kisses him again.

Gueira watches while Meis washes his hair, with the alertness of someone who’s standing guard, those keen amber eyes flickering away from him every few seconds to survey their surroundings. Maybe Gueira was always like this and Meis never noticed, because he never had eyes before, but it’s unnerving to see him suddenly so visibly unsettled. Maybe he’s nervous because it’s his first time inside a house, and his last time inside a building wasn’t a good experience. Meis isn’t sure, but he’ll ask him later. Right now, he wants to wash his hair and watch the man’s face melt into mindless relaxation while he scrubs the Texas summer dust out of his auburn curls and swipe a fingertip along his freckles. He washes his shoulders and his back and behind his ears, one of which is missing a chunk of its rim like he’s been in a fight. (He even kneels to wash Gueira a little more  _ intimately _ , because god knows he needs it after their past 24 hours together, but both of them are too tired now for it to turn into anything more.)

When both of them are clean and dried off, Meis shows Gueira to the guest bedroom, where he’s taken up temporary residence while his uncle is away. The bed isn’t terribly big, a full size, but it’s just big enough for the two of them to squeeze into it together, underneath a single sheet with Gueira’s scarred arm holding tightly to Meis’ waist. Exhaustion has seeped into Meis’ very bones and, with Gueira there to hold him, he falls asleep faster than he ever has in his short life of twenty-five years.

Meis’ phone is ringing when he wakes up. It’s a spam call, so he ignores it, sinking back into bed even though it’s half past noon, when he abruptly realizes that he’s alone. He’s up in an instant, halfway to panicked, when he realizes that Gueira hasn’t left the room, but relocated to the window sill, where he’s propped up on the ledge with his chin on one folded hand, looking contemplative as he gazes out across the farm below. “Morning, beloved,” he hums as Meis comes up behind him, wrapping him up in a hug.

“Mornin’,” Meis purrs, “Watcha lookin’ at?”

“Oh, nothing,” Gueira muses, “Just thinking.”

“‘Bout what?” Meis asks, “Want some breakfast? Lunch? Shit, what time is it?”

Gueira chuckles. “It’s midday. You haven’t fed your animals in nearly two days now, you’re a terrible farmer. Your uncle’s going to be very disappointed in you.”

“And who’s fault is it for distractin’ me with his big fat monster cock?” Meis gripes. Gueira laughs, squeezing his hand fondly, then brings his knuckles up to his lips for a quick kiss.

“You do have quite the appetite for ‘fat monster cock,’ beloved, I’ll give you that,” he quips, then quirks a brow at him, “I don’t suppose you have any clothes I could borrow?”

“Doubt anything of mine would fit ya,” Meis says, “But I’ll just grab something from my uncle’s room, he ain’t around to miss it or nothin’.”

Meis’ uncle’s clothes are a little large on Gueira in the end, the Burnish alarmingly smaller and slimmer as a man than he was as a massive, muscular monster, but there’s a certain charm to seeing him dressed in old worn-out denim jeans and a baggy button-up flannel, undone down to his chest for no reason other than Gueira likes catching Meis ogling it occasionally as they hustle to finish up his long overdue chores. Fortunately, the farm animals aren’t particularly cross with Meis for totally forgetting their existence while he rode Gueira into the middle of next week, except for Rusty the retired racehorse, who has never been happy to see him to begin with - but they’re still very wary of Gueira, even in this form. The chickens scatter around him in fright even as Meis shows him how to spread their feed, as if sensing that he doesn’t belong here, doesn’t belong to this world.

When everything is finally, finally done, it’s almost three o’clock and Meis hasn’t eaten in over 24 hours and is on the brink of what he thinks is starvation, stomach rumbling furiously at his blatant neglect as he scours the kitchen for something to make. But, he’s fresh outta groceries, courtesy of a certain fire-breathing cryptid eating nearly everything in the kitchen in a matter of days, so, with a sigh, he resigns himself to the peasant’s food of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He makes a second one for Gueira, who regards it with curiosity, five tongues lapping tentatively at the excess grape jelly oozing out one side.

“I’ll pick us up some takeout for dinner,” Meis says through a sticky mouthful of sandwich, “or maybe some pizza. You ever had pizza?”

Gueira shrugs. “It’s been a long time if I have. I don’t usually eat human food. If you think humans get mad about dead livestock, you should see how protective they are of their trashcans in Miami.”

Meis chuckles, swirling his teabag around in his cup of tea. “So, what did ya do? Hunt?”

“There are plenty of gators to eat, at least in Florida,” Gueira remarks, swallowing his sandwich practically whole and seeming surprised when he almost chokes on it. Meis offers him a glass of water, patting his back as he drains it in two quick gulps. “Fuck. Forgot I have to  _ chew  _ in this form. Honestly, love, how do you  _ function  _ like this?”

Meis shrugs. “Dunno. Guess you’re used to it when you’re born a borin’ ol’ human.”

“You’re far from boring, beloved,” Gueira reassures him with a smile, chuckling when Meis’ fingers curl underneath his chin in a familiar scratch, “You  _ can  _ reach all the best spots, though, I’ll give you that.”

“Like your dick?” Meis prompts with a cheeky grin as he polishes off his sandwich, then takes a sip of his tea while Gueira laughs at him.

“Yes, that,” the Burnish agrees, “That and that damned place between my shoulders I can never reach. The price of being so big is that you’re not very flexible.”

“I ain’t got that problem.”

Gueira laughs again. “You sure as hell don’t, love. I damn near bent you in half and you still took it like a champ. Which reminds me…” He gets a lascivious look in his sharp amber eyes, one tongue gliding along his chapped lower lip smoothly. “I’m still very much in heat.”

Meis laughs, too. “Easy, Romeo, I think my butt needs a break after the poundin’ ya gave me this mornin’. I’m gonna be sore for weeks if ya keep this up. An’ besides...I gotta go get us somethin’ to eat, or we’ll starve to death out ‘ere.”

Pausing, Gueira seems to consider this for a moment. “Or...we could go hunting,” he proposes after a moment, grinning at the suggestion.

“Hunting?” Meis scoffs, “Like in the woods? Sorry, babe, but I ain’t real keen on goin’ for a hike right now.”

Gueira huffs, and it sounds eerily familiar to the sound he makes in the back of his throat in his other form. “We won’t go far. And you literally work on a  _ farm _ , how are you so opposed to going outdoors?” 

“Cuz I’m a spoiled rich asshole who isn’t used to this shit,” Meis huffs, slumping back in his chair dramatically, “Can’t we just get takeout? I want Thai food.” He knows damn well that nowhere in this rural backwater town sells Thai food.

“Nope,” Gueira says, “C’mon. Put your boots on. We’re going on a hunt.” 

Groaning, Meis drags himself out of his chair and leaves his dirty dishes on the table, stepping into his boots by the back door. “Gueiraaaaa,” he whines, slinging his lithe little arms around the redhead’s waist, “Do we gotta?”

“C’mon, beloved,” Gueira chastises him, one claw gently tapping him on the tip of his little snub nose, “It’ll be fun. And besides...Burnish mates always hunt in pairs. It’s easier to flush prey out of a herd when there’s two of you.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna be doin’ any flushin’,” Meis retorts, crossing his arms, lips pooched out in an endearing pout. Gueira smiles, dipping to kiss him on those pouty plump lips with a purr.

“You won’t have to, beloved. I’ll do all the hard work. Promise. Just come on, I’m hungry and it’s already going to be hard to find something this time of day.”

Grumbling, Meis follows Gueira outside, startled when the Burnish rushes down the stairs and into the middle of the backyard, erupting into flame as he goes. Fire the color of blood, bright and brilliant, shimmers over his form, the human body falling to ash, from which a familiar monster springs, flames licking up its sides as it solidifies into what looks like smoldering obsidian but lives and breathes like flesh. When Gueira notices his startled stare, he laughs, a rumbling, reverberating sound that echoes in his barrel chest, before he lowers his snout to lick him with five familiar tongues.

“Sorry,” Meis almost whimpers, “That startled me. Didn’t see ya do it before.”

“You asleep,” Gueira rumbles, “Ride me.”

“Maybe later,” Meis teases, and Gueira gives him a pointed huff before he hunkers down, just low enough for Meis to throw a leg over his back and mount him like the world’s tallest, weirdest horse. There are two prominent spines before the vents on Gueira’s shoulders, which make for fine handholds as the beast rises to his full height and sets off at a steady trot through the nearby field. Down in the fells, the sheep scatter in fright around them, mewling pitifully, as Gueira races through their midst, clearing fences in a single footstep like it’s the most casual thing in the world to him, until they’re at the edge of the woods to the east of the property, slipping between the trees. Here, Gueira has to move slower, his size detrimental between the tightly spaced tree trunks, stepping over logs and crushing brush underfoot.

Living in Dallas, Meis has spent a lifetime riding horses, but riding Gueira is an experience all its own. He can feel the fire that blazes within the night-black beast between his legs, surging and crackling when he runs, smoldering slower when he steadies his gait, meandering through the trees at a trot. The vents on his body release steam that should be hot enough to scald his skin right off, and yet it never touches him, parting around his dangling legs with nothing more than a steady warmth, enough to make him sweat but not hurt. If something is in Gueira’s way, he crashes through it or crushes it in a way that no horse ever could, smoldering hot and huge and powerful. It makes Meis feel powerful, too, gripping to the pronounced scutes on Gueira’s back as he prowls the woods, trails of smoke curling up from the corners of his omnipresent grin.

Gueira snaps a fallen branch underfoot and a startled whitetail deer darts out in front of them. He’s after it in an instant, Meis gripping tighter to his handholds and squeezing his eyes closed against the sudden wind as Gueira lurches forward. He’s far too large to maintain speed for long, and Meis instead feels his body rumble with flame from within as he rears back and launches an arch of fire at the whitetail. It whinnies, whirling away from the flames to flee in the opposite direction - and right into Gueira’s reach. He’s a mercifully quick hunter, snapping its neck with just one bite. Meis cracks an eye open, to see it hanging limply from Gueira’s maw, and makes a face. “You kiss me with that mouth,” he reminds him, and Gueira chortles with a hyena’s laugh.

Their return to the farmhouse is fairly quiet, other than Meis’ heavy breathing as the evening sun beams down on his back from above and Gueira’s heat ignites him from below, stray strands of hair falling away from his sloppily done bun and sticking tight to the back of his neck with sweat. He’s relieved when he sees the familiar sillhouette of the farmhouse on the horizon, sheep scattering yet again as Gueira makes his way through the fells. When he reaches the backyard, Gueira drops his prize and hunkers down for Meis to dismount, the paper-white hide of his legs momentarily sticking to Gueira’s obsidian-black with sweat before he manages to slide off of him. Then, in an instant, fire is licking up the beast’s side and engulfing him in flame, until only a human body remains when the smoke clears - butt naked as usual.

Meis looks from Gueira to the dead deer. “You’re handlin’ this,” he remarks, then slips back inside to the sweet, sweet embrace of air-conditioning and cold ice water before the carnage begins. He thinks to return with one of his uncle’s hunting knives a few minutes later, passing it to Gueira through the crack of the door so he doesn’t have to see the undoubtedly gorey scene. “An’ clean that shit up when you’re done with it, please,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Sure thing, boss,” Gueira chuckles, and Meis pretends that doesn’t sound oh-so-good on his tongue(s).

Once the deed is done and the carnage is cleared, Meis pretends he knows how to cook deer meat and that it isn’t mostly bitter tough sinew with the prominent sharp tang of gaminess when he finally gets to eat it, his  _ refined palette  _ rightfully disgusted at the taste. Gueira seems to like it well enough, at least, and remarks that it’s better raw (and doesn’t mention that he had already eaten its heart and liver in the fell when he slipped back into his monster form to dispose of the carcass over there). Meis calls him gross and doesn’t even know the half of it, but he does scrouge up a spare toothbrush and insists that Gueira brush his teeth before he even thinks about kissing him again, so maybe he does. It’s strange, how Gueira can be so  _ human  _ and so  _ not  _ at the same time.

It’s dark outside by the time the two have showered and retired to the sofa downstairs in front of the TV, Meis nestled into Gueira’s arms as he scrolls through his social media feed on his tablet (which had spent the better part of the day in the barn before he finally remembered where it was). He isn’t surprised at all when Gueira suddenly reaches around him and clicks the lock button, taking it and setting it aside before he cups Meis’ face in his clawed hands and kisses him like a prayer, like he’s the most precious thing in all the world.

“How’s your butt?” Gueira chuckles when he breaks their kiss, one tongue lapping sweetly at the taste of Meis that lingers on his lips.

“A lil’ sore, but I’ll live,” Meis replies, already nibbling eagerly at Gueira’s lower lip, plucking it between his blunt little teeth, “But Gueira?”

The redhead smiles. His amber eyes are full of fondness. “Hmm?”

“Can ya switch back first?”

Gueira erupts into laughter. “Switch back? Do you have any idea how much trouble it was for me to take  _ your  _ form, you little brat?”

“Yep, an’ I have the sore shoulder to prove it,” Meis chuckles, “But, humans are borin’, I want  _ Miami _ .”

Gueira quirks a brow. “Miami?”

“Yeah, cuz you’re the Miami Monster, ain’t ya?” Meis prompts, “So, I’m gonna call that form Miami. That alright?”

“For you, beloved,” Gueira says, gently pushing Meis off of him so he can stand, “Anything.”

The process is a little less jarring to Meis now, as the flames devour Gueira’s human body and replace it with his true form, before dissipating into smoke. He hears the smoke detector start to beep in the kitchen, but ignores it, already pushing his pajama pants down his legs and sliding to the edge of the sofa, where Gueira’s gaping maw meets him halfway, five ruby-red tongues slick and hot and blissfully wet against his cock, his balls, his  _ everything _ . One presses against his rim and pops through the tight ring of muscle with practiced ease now, filling him in an instant. Meis moans, bucking his hips up into that slobbery maw full of gleaming green teeth, not the least bit afraid anymore.

Gueira growls and it vibrates through Meis’ entire body, sending him into a drunken frenzy of moans as he reaches for those curved horns to brace himself, hips jumping up off the couch in his excitement. The growl turns to a rumble of hyena-laughter, Gueira looking amused even with his lack of eyes, and Meis gives him a playful good-natured shove. “Get offa me,” Meis growls playfully, grinning, “Wanna suck your dick. My ass is plenty ready for ya, promise. You’ve barely given it a break all day.”

He’s never seen Gueira move so quickly, his body feeling achingly empty as a tongue glides smoothly out of him and his cock bobbing half-hard in the hot air left in the beast’s wake as he shuffles backwards. Meis doesn’t realize that Gueira’s claws are digging into the hardwood floors with every step and he doesn’t care, at least not right now. He stands up on legs that feel like jello, Gueira catching him with his snout before he can fall, whining in concern, but Meis just shushes him, turning him towards the sofa. “‘ere, get up on the couch, I wanna  _ really  _ get into this,” he urges, in an urgent whisper that makes Gueira pant in anticipation, tail wagging hard enough to kick up a breeze that might feel good if it wasn’t all hot air.

It takes some encouragement from Meis for Gueira to sit on the sofa, settled back on his haunches like a person, with his stiff red cock bobbing between his hind limbs and his tail trailing out underneath him, the tip winding around Meis’ calf as the little human settles down between his huge legs. “Look at you,” Meis hums, wrapping a hand around the thick base of Guira’s cock and guiding it towards his freshly glossed lips, wetting them again with his tongue, “What a big fat cock you’ve got for me, darlin’. Ya gonna fuck me with it later?”

Gueira’s hips twitch upwards with arousal and Meis pushes them back down. “None of that. Ya better be a good boy for me, Gueira, if ya wanna fuck my ass later. Ya do want that, don’t ya? Of course ya do, horny lil’ bastard.” 

Glossy lips stretch wide around Gueira’s pointed cock head, a little pink tongue lapping up salty-sweet pre. The smell is less intense today, so much so that Meis doesn’t notice it until he’s right on Gueira’s cock, pushing the first few inches into his mouth until it touches the front of his throat, swallowing his gag reflex to grant it entry. He pushes it right down to the back of his throat, then bobs back up the slick wet shaft, with a sloppy wet slurp that makes the beast rumble with what must be a moan. He swallows again, then bobs right back down on that ruby-red cock, taking it as far as he physically can before rearing back again. Gueira watches with five tongues lolling from his gaping maw in a pant, one clawed hand tentatively cupping the back of Meis’ head to guide him, with all the tenderness in the world, forever mindful that he’s very big and Meis is very small and he must be very careful not to hurt him.

“S-So good!” Gueira huffs in a broken panting groan, and then Meis is pulling off of him with an exaggeratedly wet pop, a string of drool connecting his puffy red lips to the beast’s dick. He breaks it with a swipe of his tongue and wipes his mouth on the back of his hands, hair hanging across one side of his face as he smirks. 

“Ya like that, big fella?” Meis teases, “Ya think you’re ready for the main event now? Nice an’ slick, yeah?” He gives Gueira’s cock a gentle squeeze for emphasis and the beast stifles an enthusiastic howl.

“Ready!” he eagerly agrees and tries to stand, but Meis shoves his hips back down, Gueira giving him a puzzled whine.

Meis answers him with a cheeky grin, climbing into his huge lap. “Stay down, I’m gonna ride ya, alright?”

Gueira rumbles with a chuckling growl. “More than ‘right.”

“You’re a good boy,” Meis hums approvingly, steadying himself on Gueira’s broad shoulders and taking a deep breath before he slowly sits down on his throbbing red cock. He feels every ridge and nodule on the thick hot length as it sinks into him, pausing every few inches to take a breath, neatly manicured brows furrowed in concentration. He sinks until he meets the swollen hot knot, chest jumping softly with every unsteady breath, Gueira’s clawed hands curling around his hips to hold him still for a moment. His pointed muzzle noses underneath Meis’ chin, tongues lapping lightly at the tender underside of his throat.

“Okay?” Gueira asks when Meis is quiet for too long.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Meis reassures him with a squeeze of his shoulders, “You’re just real big. Like  _ real  _ real big. Surprised I can take ya at all.”

Gueira purrs. “Strong mate.”

“More like, your mate’s a slut who’s had a ride on a  _ Bad Dragon  _ a time or two,” Meis chuckles airily, Gueira’s grip on his slender waist loosening up enough for him to start to move, edging his hips back up that massive ridged cock, emerging from him slicker than it went in, coated in a thin film of Gueira’s oil-like saliva.

“What’s…?” Gueira starts, but Meis shushes him with a promise of, “I’ll tell ya later. Just focus on what you’re feelin’ right now. Is it good? Y-Yeah...it’s  _ real _ good…”

“Great,” Gueira corrects him in a panting snarl as Meis reaches the tip of his dick, then sits back down on him hard, knocking the breath right outta them both. He huffs, chest rising and falling quickly, and Meis is sure he looks much the same, moaning softly as he’s impaled in the best way possible.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “This shit’s  _ great _ ! The best!” He moves back up, then back down, establishing a slow but steady rhythm. Gueira stops him if he starts to move too fast with the hands on his hips, and it touches Meis in a way that he’s so concerned for his wellbeing, his hands relocating to the beast’s face to hold his snout close to his face where he can shower it with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, interrupted by sharp moans as he slides smoothly back and forth. “You’re so  _ good _ , Gueira,” he mumbles, and he hopes that Gueira knows he means it in more ways than just sex, “So good to me…”

Gueira whines delightedly and Meis is dimly aware of his tail thumping against the floor somewhere behind him, mostly focused on the intense heat blossoming through his gut as he rides Gueira faster in hot pursuit of release. His breath comes out of him in a sharp rush of a moan as he sinks down fast and hard and the beast’s knot pops into him wetly, Gueira throwing his head back in an ear-splitting howl as he erupts inside him like a geyser. Meis comes, too, come splattering across Gueira’s belly, where it hits with a sizzle like water in a hot frying pan. Meis’ vision is full of stars, lips parted around one of Gueira’s hot tongues as it licks into his mouth in a sloppy-wet monster kiss, and he’s too blissed-out on the high of orgasm to notice that they’re falling until it’s too late.

The back of the couch hits the hardfloor floors with a crash, wood frame shattering on impact, sending tufts of cotton stuffing flying up into the air like feathers. For a moment, Meis is too shocked to process what just happened - and then he’s erupting into laughter, giving Gueira little butterfly kisses on his snout as he develops a serious case of the giggles.

Gueira slides down the overturned sofa onto the floor, Meis still balanced in his lap and stuck tight to his knotted cock. “Okay?” he asks, a little concerned at Meis’ outburst.

  
“We broke the fuckin’ couch!” Meis laughs, grinning in nothing but euphoric delight, his high cheekbones flushed and pinky-red as he wraps his arms around Gueira’s thick neck and holds him, nuzzling up against his eternally smiling snout.

“S-Sorry,” Gueira says, clearly confused.

“It’s fine,” Meis reassures him, “We’ll get a new one, don’t worry ‘bout it. Just means ya fucked me  _ real  _ good.”

Eventually, his giggling catches on and Gueira starts to whine with laughter with him, pressing his snout into the nape of Meis’ neck to lap at his bitten shoulder tenderly. Where there had been a raw red wound that morning and peeling scabs that afternoon, a semicircle of little white scars is now embellished into Meis’ pale skin. And although it’s healed in record time, Gueira still licks it almost apologetically, nuzzling and lapping at his mate until his knot deflates enough to pop out of Meis, with a river of come that soaks into the sofa cushions still partially tucked underneath them. “Gross,” Meis teases, kissing Gueira’s snout, and Gueira huffs at him.

Meis gets up stiffly, well aware that he’ll be more than a little sore in the morning, Gueira scrambling onto all fours beside him. The beast shakes himself, flames scattering off of him as he does so, sending saliva slinging across the room. “Soooo gross,” Meis taunts, giving Gueira a playful shove.

There’s a flash of fire and a cloud of smoke that sets the smoke detector in the kitchen off again, and the hand that gently shoves Meis back is human, but with a gnarly set of sharp black claws.

“Aw,” Meis remarks, grabbing Gueira’s hand and dragging him towards the stairs, ignoring the splintered remains of the overturned sofa or the ragged claw marks in the hardwood floors, “You’re human again. Boo.”

Laughing, Gueira follows him upstairs to his bedroom, where Meis falls into bed in nothing but a tank top with a happy sigh. “You  _ really  _ prefer me as a monster, don’t you?” he teases as he settles into bed beside him, Meis kicking the sheets away in favor of Gueira’s warmth instead.

“Maybe,” Meis confesses, with a pouty lower lip that makes Gueira purr, “Ain’t it at least a little flatterin’? That I like ya just as much in your true form or whatever, and not just when you’re walkin’ around as a human, lookin’ like sex on legs?”

“It is,” Gueira agrees, his shaggy auburn hair tickling underneath Meis’ chin as he nuzzles his throat, giving it a playful nibble with still-sharp teeth that glow green in the low light, “But I like being human like you sometimes.”

Meis rolls onto his back, dragging Gueira on top of him to cup his cheeks, squishing them playfully. “Why’s that?” he asks absentmindedly, a little too focused on the sharp gleam of Gueira’s amber eyes or the way his long lashes look so pretty in the moonlight.

“Because,” Gueira says, leaning in for the first kiss of many they’ll share that night, “monsters can’t do this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Who knows? I sure as hell don't. I'm just making this shit up as I go along. It'll be a surprise for us both!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No porn in this chapter? Damn, I'm really slacking.

Meis didn’t expect to love Gueira so much, so fast.

From the first light of dawn to the silver streaks of midnight, Gueira is at Meis’ side, sometimes as a man, sometimes as a monster. He’s a better farmhand than Meis himself, as heavyweight as a horse, hauling haybales to the cattle field and carrying Meis between his shoulders to check on the sheep down in the rocky fells, where he’s much more surefooted than city-slicker rich-kid Meis could ever hope to be. Chores are finished twice as fast and, when Meis retreats to the farm house to assemble his one brain cell and the few scattered ingredients in the kitchen cabinets to cook them some semblance of a meal, Gueira is right there beside him, chin on his shoulder and a hum on his rough lips as he holds him from behind. Meis likes to sing when he cooks and when he showers, and Gueira likes to listen. Evenings are spent lounging on the bed to watch Netflix or chasing each other through grassy fields full of fireflies, where Gueira pretends to be a big fearsome beast who’s going to pounce on Meis and put an end to him, only to tenderly lap at his face instead, until Meis shoves him away with a good-natured comment on how dumb and drooly and gross he is.

For Meis, the loneliness of a summer spent holed up in his uncle’s dumb farmhouse is over. His bed is never empty, waking every morning to Gueira’s tongues laving over his neck in invitation or his rough lips pressing so gently to his temple that it nearly makes him cry, to think that Gueira could be so tender with him. And even in all his anemia, which previously sent him stealing away under the covers every night despite the Texas summer heat, he knows he’ll never be cold again with Gueira’s blazing-hot body beside him. Gueira filled something in him that he never even knew was empty.

Gueira has the urge to hunt every other day, Meis reluctantly agreeing to ride him into the forest like a fairy nymph on a giant flaming steed. He’s gradually gotten used to the taste of deer meat, but he still doesn’t like it - which is what leads Gueira to enter the  _ human realm  _ with him for the first time, after no small amount of convincing.

“C’mon, it’s like a hunt,” Meis says and Gueira huffs at him, “We’re gonna hunt up some McDonald’s an’ it’s gonna be greasy an’ disgusting an’ delicious an’ you’re gonna love it, promise.”

Gueira huffs again. Meis tugs his huge head down to his level with both hands, cupping his bright red jaw tenderly and pressing a kiss to his snout, presenting the beast with his best puppy eyes - which he already knows Gueira can’t resist. “Please? For me, babe?”

Groaning, Gueira answers with the now familiar rush of flames that turn him human, his lips pooched out in an endearing pout. Meis smiles and kisses him again. “That’s what I thought. Can ya hide the horns, by any chance?”

Gueira shrugs. “This is as human as I can get,” he laments.

Meis bites his lip, puzzling over it, then snaps his fingers as a lightbulb goes off. He bounds upstairs to his - to  _ their  _ \- bedroom and returns with a hoodie that’s three sizes too large for him, promptly chucking it at Gueira’s chest. “‘ere, wear this. Jus’ keep the hood up an’ we should be fine. We’re just goin’ through the drive thru.”

Gueira stares at the hoodie incredulously, then slips it on over his head. Smiling, Meis pulls the hood up over his curving red horns, pulling the strings tight around Gueira’s face and kissing the very tip of his cute little nose. “There!” he exclaims.

“It’s awfully warm,” Gueira grunts.

“You’ll survive, truck has AC,” Meis remarks, already scrambling for his truck keys and purse. He leaves them on the counter for a moment to throw his head forward and gather his long black hair up in a sloppy ponytail, then leads them to the door. “Ya ever been inside a car?”

Gueira stiffens when he sees the stark black Ford F-150 parked in the drive. He’s seen it everyday since he’s been here, even seen Meis in it, but he’s never ridden in it himself. “Once,” he says, voice harsh.

Pausing, Meis glances back at him over his shoulder, those pretty blue eyes imploring him to say more before he skips down the steps - he skips now, apparently, because Gueira just makes him that damn  _ happy _ \- and yanks the driver’s side door open.

“It was when I was captured,” Gueira elaborates, reluctantly edging up to the open door like he expects it to reach out and bite him like a live thing, his hair fluffing up a bit more than usual. Meis’ face softens.

“Are ya okay goin’ for a ride? I can go without ya, it won’t take too long,” he offers, reaching tentatively for Gueira’s hand. Gueira accepts it, giving it a squeeze.

“No,” he says, “I would like to try it.”

“Well,” Meis chuckles, kissing his nose again, fully aware that this level of honeymooning is probably disgusting but not caring now that it’s happening to him, “Ya gotta get in on the other side, y’know? This is my side.”

Gueira chuffs indignantly and walks around to the other side of the truck, opening the door and hopping in. He doesn’t fasten his seatbelt and Meis doesn’t either, smiling as he leans back in his seat, one hand on the steering wheel, and cranks the truck. With the summer sunset’s hues setting his red hair aglow in gold and lighting up every fleck of yellow in his amber eyes, Gueira looks especially beautiful. Meis would kiss him, if he wasn’t driving, bringing them down a long, steep, weaving dirt driveway and sending up plumes of dry summer dust with every inch, before finally pulling out onto the empty back road below.

It’s a forty minute drive to town, and ten more minutes to the nearest McDonald’s (curse this stupid backwater county). Plenty of time for questions - and answers.

“Gueira,” Meis says, disrupting the comfortable silence as he makes a turn, watching the redhead out of the corner of one very blue eye, “Tell me ‘bout...when ya were captured by those bad people.”

Gueira shudders as he stares wistfully out the window at the passing cornfields and cattle farms. “It was...a very bad day,” he says, in a voice that sounds very far away, “I had a friend. Lio.”

“You’ve said.”

“There were a lot of us back then, the Burnish,” Gueira says, without pausing for Meis to comment, “We were a big pack, but maybe that was our downfall in the end. We had a den far north of here, where it’s cold and there’s always snow, but that was no trouble for us, of course. We could thrive there, and we did, for many generations. But, the longer we stayed, the closer the humans came. You’re truly a remarkable species, you know. You can survive even in environments that don’t suit you. Your dens have expanded to the furthest reaches of the earth, and you still seek more, more, more. Your kind is clever, Meis. I’ve always admired that about you. You’re so resourceful. Unfortunately, that’s what led to our discovery. And once the humans knew we were there, more and more of them came, people in white coats. Or that’s what we were told, at least. I was too young to remember. Just a pup.”

“Burnish like humans. We find them clever and very interesting,” he continues, “That’s why the first Burnish came to this planet.”

Meis slams on the brakes in the middle of the road. The car behind him honks and he stutters on, bobbing between lanes as he stares at Gueira with wide blue eyes and blown-out pupils. “You  _ came to  _ this planet?”

Gueira nods. “Burnish aren’t from here, not originally. I can’t say much more about it than that. It’s just a story we were told as cubs, maybe it isn’t even true, but the elders used to say that the Burnish came from beyond the stars. They only say that the Burnish came here to see the humans, nothing more. I suspect it’s just a cub’s fable.”

“But you  _ might  _ be an alien,” Meis reiterates.

Gueira shrugs and muses, “I could be, I can’t know for certain. They said we were all descended from the first pack to settle this planet, before the humans expanded and found us. We intended to be friendly with them. They were not so friendly to us.”

“Humans...never like things they don’t understand,” Meis mutters, “They must’ve known ya weren’t a natural thing to this planet. Ya don’t look like any animal I’ve ever seen.”

“I like to think I’m a bit more advanced than your earth animals, although some of them are quite charming,” Gueira laments, “I was only just old enough to remember a bit of the first raid. The whitecoats came and tried to take a cub from his mother. Of course, she torched them to ash. So, they killed her.”

“You mean to tell me a buncha humans managed to take down one o’ yours?” Meis scoffs, quirking a brow. He doesn’t doubt the authenticity of Gueira’s story, but it seems so outlandish to think that any human could ever face off against a beast like Gueira and actually  _ win _ . 

Gueira nods, his voice regaining that hollow far-away quality as he stares out the window. Meis merges onto the bypass, engine revving up to eighty miles per hour. “I don’t remember how it happened, only that it did. And that little cub who watched his mother die a horrible death was my friend Lio. His mother’s death incited such an anger in him. He grew up to be as fierce and strong a Burnish who ever lived. But, Lio was no fool either. He wasn’t reckless like me. That first raid was sloppy, there were more human casualties than Burnish. Enough of us escaped that we thought we could regroup elsewhere and start anew, but the whitecoats just followed us. Eventually, we split off into two groups, thinking that we might be harder to track that way. Lio had grown up to be a better leader than any Burnish who ever lived. The other group was captured shortly thereafter, but Lio’s leadership kept us from the same fate. He was always smart, that Lio. I howl a little louder when I think of him these days. All the Burnish must have mourned the day he turned to ashes.”

“Even Lio couldn’t keep us safe forever,” Gueira laments, “When we were captured, they loaded us, one-by-one, onto great big trucks in metal boxes. I was inside for a long time. I remember going to sleep and waking up in a strange place. It was very bright inside and everything was white. And it was very cold. So cold that my fire wouldn’t even light. So cold that it hurt to move. So, I just laid down for awhile. Some whitecoats came and talked at me, but never to me. I never talked to them, either. The less those bastards knew, the better. They put a collar on me that was made of ice and, as long as I wore it, my fire would never light and I would always be cold, even when they took me outside the cage. They did that, sometimes. They would shove needles into me and draw out my blood. They did other things, too, I’m not sure what. They usually kept me asleep the whole time, so I wouldn’t bite. The other Burnish were there, too, I could feel them. Even Lio.”

Meis changes lanes, peering at Gueira from the corner of one eye while he tries to keep the truck on the road. Gazing out the window longingly with a deep frown creasing his lips and brows, the redhead looks uncharacteristically solemn. “You...must ‘ave been real scared.”

“I was, always,” Gueira says, “But, knowing the other Burnish were there with me gave me comfort. So long as we were together, it was only a matter of time before we broke out. Our fire would never go out, so long as we were together and we had Lio there to lead us. We believed in him. I believed in him.”

“You two must’ve been real close,” Meis says.

“We were,” Gueira agrees, “Lio was my best friend. That is...until I met you.” He smiles pensively. Meis smiles, too. But, it’s short-lived, Gueira sighing as Meis takes an exit. “I was asleep in my cage one night, when Lio was suddenly burning the door down and dragging me out. There was blood streamin’ down his jaws and his hide was all blue with frostbite, where he had chewed those damned collars off of each and every one of us. He snapped mine off and told me to go help the others, so I did. I always thought that, so long as we had each other, us Burnish would be an unstoppable force. And then the whitecoats came runnin’ in with these guns that shot  _ ice _ . You get shot through the heart with an ice bullet, and your fire chuffs out like a cigarette. I never imagined that a few humans could send so many of us to ashes at once.” 

Meis’ gaze softens in sadness. Gueira scoots across the bench to nuzzle into his shoulder, chasing comfort. Meis takes a hand off the wheel, fingers meshing between Gueira’s and giving him a gentle squeeze.

“There was a lot of death that day,” he says, so soft that it’s almost a whisper and Meis can hardly hear him over the rush of the air conditioner, “Ashes everywhere. We would start a fire and they’d just chuff it out like it was nothin’. But, I wasn’t truly scared ‘til I saw them kill Lio. I remember seein’ him all encased in ice and frozen. Like a statue. I knew he couldn’t have survived that, and most everybody else was dead, so I ran. I took the coward’s way out.” He grits his teeth against Meis’ shoulder.

Meis starts when he feels a tear like hot coffee hit the bare skin of his shoulder, but not because it hurts. Because it’s the first time he’s ever seen Gueira cry. He flicks on the cruise control, steadies the wheel with one hand, and throws his other arm around Gueira’s shoulders in a lopsided hug, squeezing him as close as he can without crashing.

“I miss my pack,” Gueira says, and he suddenly sounds very small.

“I’m sorry,” Meis says, because it’s all that he knows to say. Gueira had lived through not only a massacre of his family, but the genocide of his species - at least, on this planet. Perhaps there really were other Burnish still out there, somewhere in the furthest reaches of outerspace. Meis could hardly wrap his mind around that, so he wraps it around Gueira instead, holding him tight.

“No whitecoats came after me after that,” he says, “They thought we were all dead. I ran ‘til there wasn’t any land left to run to. I found out later that I was in Miami, Florida. I had never seen a beach before that. It was real pretty, so I stayed. The humans don’t mind you so much, if you lay low, but some inevitably saw me. I tried to stay away. But it was so lonely.”

Meis thinks about it for a moment. Gueira sniffles into his nape. “Well,” he finally says, after a few seconds too many of silence have passed, “You’re not alone anymore. I know it’s not the same, but…”

“You’re right,” Gueira says, “It’s better.”

Meis’ cheeks flush fleshy pink as he turns into the McDonald’s parking lot, golden arches gleaming down at them through the twilight. “Shuddup.”

“No, beloved,” Gueira lulls, his tears not so much drying as they are turning to steam after sizzling down his cheeks, “You’re the best. I never imagined I would have a mate so beautiful or funny or wonderful.”

Meis turns into the drive thru and belts out his order before his cheeks can turn any redder.

* * *

Meis is doodling absentmindedly on a napkin a few nights later, a rough concept for a future tattoo, while Gueira stands behind him and studies some of the photographs hanging in frames on the kitchen walls.

“Who’s this?” the redhead asks.

Meis doesn’t look up. “Some bozo I’m related to, probably.”

Gueira looks at him, then back at the photo. “Is your uncle nice?”

Shrugging, Meis glances at him. “He’s okay, I guess. He took pity on me when my dad threw me out, so I guess he has some compassion, at least. But, none of ‘em would care for me much if they never I was datin’ a guy.”

Gueira raises a brow, frowning. He looks almost comically puzzled. “Not because I’m a monster or possibly an alien?”

“Nah,” Meis says, with a dismissive wave of his hand before he turns back to his napkin-and-pen doodle of a great black beast breathing fire, “Better a monster than a man.” His voice deepens in a bad impersonation of his father, waggling a finger at nothing. “Fuck all the monsters ya want, but no son o’ mine will be a fuckin’ queer.” He flops back into the recliner and throws the napkin and pen down on the coffee table, which is miraculously still intact after the romp that sent the sofa to splinters, sighing so hard that his ribcage rattles.

Gueira is at his side in an instant, sliding into the recliner with him even though there’s literally no room. Meis grunts, squashed. “You...don’t talk about your family much, beloved,” Gueira comments, asking a silent question.

“Cuz there’s nothin’ worth talkin’ ‘bout,” Meis spits with a thick drawl. It comes out more at two times: when he’s horny and when he’s pissed. Fortunately, it’s usually the former, because Gueira isn’t sure why Meis is angry or how to deal with it. He whines in that puppy-dog way of his, nuzzling his nose up against Meis’ nape. “My parents don’t care for me too much,” Meis says, answering the unasked question, “I’m a good ol’ fashioned screw-up.”

Gueira’s chest swells with anger and he actually looks offended. “You are not a screw-up,” he says, frowning adamantly, “You’re my mate.”

“That don’t make me perfect, Gueira.”

“I don’t care if you’re not perfect,” Gueira says, “Because you’re already perfect to me.”

Meis gapes at him. Gueira says it so sincerely that he almost feels tears welling up in his eyes because  _ fuck _ , Gueira is so stupidly genuine and actually  _ means  _ it the way lovers past never did. But, he erupts into laughter instead, because it’s so damn cheesy. “You’re right hopeless, babe.”

“Don’t care what I am,” Gueira huffs, only slightly offended that Meis laughed at him, lower lip pooched out adorably in a way that just  _ beckons  _ for Meis to lean in and kiss it, nibbling gently with his blunt little teeth, “So long as I can be yours.”

“You’re one block o’ cheddar away from a whole cheese aisle, luv,” Meis giggles.

“I have no idea what that means,” Gueira laments, “But I hope it’s a good thing, beloved. I hope it’s a thing that makes you smile.”

Meis bites his lower lip and tries his hand at, for once in his life, being sincere, “Never smiled as much in my whole goddamn life as I do with you.”

* * *

There’s a lot about Gueira that Meis doesn’t know and suspects he never will, but the coming days are helping him learn all the things that suddenly seem so important.

Gueira doesn’t just love Twinkies and Dingdongs, he loves Big Macs and chicken wings and greasy junk food in such surplus that just watching him makes Meis feel sick sometimes. No horror movie or true crime documentary makes him bat an eye, but he cries at every cheesy, stupid rom-com Meis begrudgingly agrees to watch with him. He snores softly if he sleeps on his back, and the bridge of his nose wrinkles if Meis blows on his lashes gently to wake him when he does. He likes the smell of cinnamon. He prefers to fuck Meis on his back, so he can see his face when he makes him come and kiss the wrinkle from between his brows. He kicks his leg like a dog if Meis scratches between his shoulders while he’s Miami. And he’s so, so hopelessly, helplessly far gone for Meis.

It’s flattering, in a way, but Meis is careful to never take advantage. He knows that Gueira would do literally  _ anything  _ for him, has known it almost since that first time he laid underneath him in the barn, and he doesn’t want to ever test the limits of what Gueira is willing to do for him. 

Tonight, Gueira’s obsidian-black body flickers with fire underneath him as he rides him into the woods, to the neat little clearing in the tightly packed trees that they discovered on a hunt two nights before. They’ve come here every night since, to watch the fireflies beneath the moonlight while Meis lays with his head on Gueira’s broad flank, listening to the crackle and pop of the fire that blazes within him. It reminds him of a campfire, but smells sweeter. When Gueira’s not in heat, he still smells musky, the way all wild things do, but not as sweet - more like baking sweet bread than burning sugar. He nestles his nose into that familiar warmth and inhales that familiar scent and somehow finds reassurance that the entire world will be okay, so long as he has Gueira.

“Gueira?” he beckons into the semi-darkness.

The beast huffs and noses Meis.

“I’ve gotta go back to Dallas when my uncle gets back,” Meis says, “Are ya gonna come with me?”

Gueira seems to consider it, before he grates out in a growling voice like gravel, “Parents won’t like.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Meis says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “We’ll make our own way. Dunno how, but we’ll do it. We can’t stay ‘ere forever, but...I don’t wanna leave ya.”

There’s a silent smile in the way Gueira nuzzles the top of his head and huffs softly.

“Why’d ya come to Dallas, anyways?” Meis asks, “Long ways from Miami. Didn’t ya like it there?”

Gueira’s chin rises and falls in a subtle nod. “Liked it. Saw a whitecoat. Ran away.”

Meis’ eyes flicker up to him in concern. “A whitecoat? One o’ those guys who locked ya up? You saw one of ‘em?”

“Always following me,” Gueira growls, his green teeth glowering brightly in the night as he bares them at the thought, “Some humans see me. Take picture. Whitecoats come after that.”

Gueira speaks so eloquently when he’s human that hearing him snap out each syllable as Miami is almost funny now. Still, Meis can mostly understand him. “When was the last time you saw one of ‘em?”

“Miami,” Gueira says, “Years ago. Long time.”

Meis relaxes. “Probably nothin’ to worry ‘bout then. No one’s seen ya ‘ere but me, right?”

“Right,” Gueira says, laying his head down in Meis’ lap.

“An’ I ain’t heard no one worryin’ ‘bout dead sheep since I found ya,” Meis says, “or rather, ya found me. Ya gave me a real scare, that first night.”

Gueira rumbles with a chuckle at the memory. “Sure did.”

“Guess it all worked out alright in the end though,” Meis giggles, dipping down to kiss Gueira between his curling red horns, which cast his paper-white skin in an eerie neon light, “Got a boyfriend outta it, after all. A big monster boyfriend. The best kind.”

Gueira chuckles again, those five tongues slipping from between his fangs to lave over his collarbone. “Silly.”

“I can be,” Meis agrees, “Let’s head back. Ya wanna watch one o’ your dumb movies tonight? I’ll make ya some popcorn.”

“Popcorn,” Gueira agrees, waiting until Meis has slid into place between his shoulders before he hoists himself to his feet, stretches with one hind limb extended out behind him, toebeans spreading wide, and sets off for the farm house.

Stretched out on a mattress that’s too small for them both that night, while Gueira snivels over some stupid rom-com with a 1.8-star rating on IMDb and spills more popcorn amongst the sheets than he gets in his dumb toothy mouth, Meis presses close to him and listens to the thunder of his heartbeat over the drone of the fire within and comes to a realization.

He’s just as hopelessly far gone as Gueira is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Plot? In my monsterfucker fanfic? It's more likely than you think.


	6. Chapter 6

Gueira’s forelimbs are strange, terminating in paws that more closely resemble hands with five fingers, each tipped in a wickedly sharp, fluorescent red claw that curves outwards like a scythe. The hide on them is smooth, hard, and black as the night, with no pads to speak of. His hindlimbs are different: elongated and angular, with only two toes on the ground while the other two rest higher up on the foot, one equipped with a sickle claw that curves backwards like a velociraptor’s - and each toe has a squishy little neon-red pad attached to it, cracked and dry with callouses from long years spent in the heat and desert. 

“Your toe beans are all cracked,” Meis comments, rain rattling against the window pane in sheets as a freak summer storm rolls in across the farm, thunder rumbling like a roar in the distance. Gueira is curled around him, Meis’ head rested on his coal-hot flank, the mattress sagging beneath his weight as the bed frame creaks and strains to hold him. It’s a tight fit for the full-size bed; Gueira has to curl up in a comically tight little ball like a sleepy kitten, with one hindlimb stretched across Meis’ thighs, those two toes spread wide at the ticklish sensation as Meis squishes his pads nonchalantly, thumbing along a deep crack in the hide. “Don’t that hurt?”

“No,” Gueira responds in a rumble, but Meis unfolds his legs and stretches forward to fetch the container of vaseline from the nightstand drawer anyways, unscrewing it and dipping his slender fingers into the salve. Gueira’s leg twitches vaguely as he smears it across his toe beans, massaging it into the hard cracked hide. It’s a strange feeling, being tended to so delicately after spending years alone in the wilderness with no company but his own shadow as it stretched across the empty plains and chased him through the marsh. His throat vibrates with a contented sight as he lays his head down, savoring the sweet bliss of Meis’ delicate soft touch.

“Gueira?” Meis beckons after a moment, returning the vaseline to the nightstand after he’s dotingly massaged it into both of the beast’s feet.

Gueira doesn’t lift his head. “Yes, beloved?”

“‘m sorry if this is a touchy subject, but I gotta know,” Meis says, “Why did those people who captured ya kill all the Burnish all o’ a sudden? Ya made it sound like they jus’ suddenly decided to massacre ya’ll one day.”

Gueira lifts his head. A whine rattles through sharp green teeth that glower brightly in the dwindling light of an afternoon gone dark with stormclouds. 

“Ya don’t gotta talk about it, if ya don’t wanna,” Meis offers.

Gueira doesn’t answer for a moment, considering it. Then, he finally says, “Will talk. Gotta turn human.”

Meis shifts his weight off of Gueira, the beast’s forelimbs hitting the hardwood floorboards that are now irreparably scarred by his wickedly sharp scythes of claws (Meis hasn’t decided what to do about that, before his uncle comes home) as he jumps off the bed. Fire surges through his form, burning the monster to ash, and then he’s suddenly human again, immeasurably smaller but just as large in presence, slipping back into bed with Meis, who props up on a stack of pillows and welcomes his kiss hello.

Gueira’s lips only touch his for a moment, before he nestles into Meis’ slender shoulder, bare except for the black strap of a too-big tank top that drapes off of him like a dress, and sighs. “The whitecoats decided we had to die that day, and we all would have, if not for Lio escaping and setting some of us free. They realized that we were too dangerous to keep around for their sick experiments, even if it meant our extinction on earth.”

Meis doesn’t miss a beat. “Why?”

“Because Lio bit someone the week before that,” Gueira says, one long green fang worrying at his chapped lower lip, “and turned them into a Burnish.”

Spluttering, Meis jolts upright. “Turned them into a Burnish?”

Gueira nods, blinking slowly. “Burnish can reproduce sexually, but we don’t have to. We can make other Burnish just fine without ever breeding.”

“Like a werewolf?” Meis gapes.

“I don’t know what that is,” Gueira confesses, “Maybe?”

“Ya can bite someone an’ turn ‘em into a Burnish?” Meis prompts, “How’s that work?”

“Burnish are shape-shifters,” Gueira says, “We can take the form of anything, so long as we have a sample of its DNA. That’s why I bit you.”

“Am  _ I  _ gonna turn into a Burnish?” Meis gawks.

“No,” Gueira says quickly, “I didn’t inject you with my venom. I was only biting you so I could draw enough blood to take human form.”

“Venom doesn’t seem like the right word,” Meis puzzles.

“I’m sure it isn’t, but I don’t know the human word for it,” Gueira confesses sheepishly, “I’m still learning. Did you know that not all humans talk the same?”

“Yeah, I sure did,” Meis comments, mildly bemused, smiling into Gueira’s scruffy head of hair as the unruly red curls tickle his nose. He wraps his arms around Gueira and squeezes him tight.

“I was relieved when you spoke the way I understand,” Gueira tells him, “There are some humans I don’t understand as well.”

“Do ya make a habit of befriending humans?” Meis asks.

“No, but I would overhear them sometimes,” Gueira says, “There were a lot of humans in Miami, and a lot of humans between here and there, even deep in the swamps.”

“Probably hunters an’ trappers,” Meis surmises, “Anyways, your venom? Or whatever it is?”

Gueira nods. “Burnish can inject other organisms with their venom and turn them into Burnish, too. But it’s a voluntary choice. We can bite without venom just fine, but you already knew that, beloved. I did it to you.”

“Ya sure did,” Meis chuckles, blue eyes flickering briefly to the fully healed little scars on his shoulder, bright white against pale skin. It had been surprisingly painless, even then, and it had healed nearly instantly.

“Whatever the venom is, it transfers some of our DNA into the other organism and gives them access to the Burnish form,” Gueira says, “I don’t know how it works, exactly. Lio didn’t either, or he wouldn’t have done it. It was an accident, I think. I like to think it was, anyways. I never got the chance to ask him.” His voice grows soft, sad. Meis squeezes him again.

“The whitecoats were afraid,” Gueira tells him, cautiously, “that we would infect their people. That we would turn the whole world into Burnish like us. We wouldn’t have, we never intended to infect even one person, but of course, no one ever bothered to ask us. The Burnish are friendly and kind, for the most part, and even the crankiest among us usually liked humans. We wouldn’t have ever hurt them if we didn’t have to, after we were captured. Burnish aren’t killers, unless we have to be and, even then, we try to always leave the option for an adversary to escape. Unless it’s our prey, of course. We do have to eat, after all. But, we don’t eat humans.”

“Except for their asses,” Meis quips and Gueira huffs at him. He laughs. “So, these whitecoats. They thought ya were gonna cause some sorta alien invasion, I guess. Infect us all an’ put an end to the human race, huh? What a buncha crackpipes.”

Gueira nuzzles his neck, sighing. “Some people only see what they want to believe. We wouldn’t have hurt them, unless we absolutely had to. And after we were locked up in their facility...we had to.”

“Ya don’t gotta explain yourself to me, luv,” Meis interrupts him, “I’ve seen your heart an’ I know ya wouldn’t hurt nobody ‘less ya had to. Unless you’re a sheep.”

“I still wouldn’t hurt them unless I had to,” Gueira says meekly.

“You’re soft,” Meis teases.

“For you?” Gueira prompts, “Of course, beloved.”

Meis chuckles, sweeping a stray strand of black hair behind one heavily pierced ear, the rim dotted with silver studs. Gueira cranes his neck up to nibble at them affectionately, while Meis reaches for his tablet on the nightstand, bringing up Netflix.

“Enough o’ this heavy talk,” he says, “Ya wanna watch a movie? Maybe make some popcorn?”

Gueira is a sucker for only two things that aren’t Meis: stupid cheesy television and junk food. He perks up instantly. “You know it.”

Meis jerks open the nightstand drawer, passing Gueira an unpopped bag of popcorn, still folded flat. “Here ya go. Do ya thing.”

Gueira takes the bag between his hands, grinning in delight, flickers of fire surging through his skin. Meis has since discovered that he exerts great control over his flames, which can range from just pleasantly warm enough to heat Meis’ skin after a cold shower to searingly hot enough to turn concrete to slush.

He can also pop a bag of popcorn, no microwave required, which Meis has used to his full lazy advantage.

Once the kernels are mostly popped, Gueira tears the bag open and offers it to Meis, who takes a handful, pressing play on their latest Netflix binge. It’s some medical drama and stupid as hell, but Gueira likes it (and Meis admittedly does as well). It’s comfortable here, reclining in a cozy warm bed with a fan puttering along beside them, Gueira’s arm around Meis as he listens to the thunderous drum of the rain on the rooftop and windowsill and loses himself in the latest love-life drama of a fictional hospital.

They’re halfway through an episode when Meis notices something: a little white icon in the upper right corner of the screen, right beside the matching image of a half-drained battery. It looks like a tiny paper airplane. He quirks a brow, pressing pause and flicking through to his system settings.

“Huh, that’s odd,” he comments nonchalantly, switching it back off, “My location was turned on. I never turn that shit on. Don’t want my parents knowin’ when I go lookin’ for company at the gay bar back home. Not that there’s any need for that anymore.” He tucks that stubborn strand of hair back behind his ear again, winking pointedly.

Gueira chuckles, giving his temple a nudge with his nose, the same way he does with a much larger, pointer snout when he’s a monster. “And there’ll never be any need again, so long as you’ll have me.”

Meis turns their show back on, closing his settings. Gueira has been tentatively learning how to use the tablet, so he can entertain himself when Meis has to run to the grocery store or to pick up a bag of feed - sometimes with his fingers, sometimes with the eraser-end of an unsharpened pencil that’s balanced precariously between razor-sharp monster fangs, before he inevitably snaps it in half again - and Meis figures he accidentally turned it on somehow. No biggie.

He sinks into Gueira’s side, listens to the crackle of the fire in his depths over the rattle of the rain on the windowsill, and drifts to sleep to familiar warmth.

* * *

The summer rainstorm turns the farmlands to mush and Meis has to ride Gueira out to the lower fell to free a crying sheep that’s sunk into the mud up to its knees, wallowing helplessly and mewling in fear when Gueira bows his head and wraps his jaws around it. But, tender as a lamb, Gueira lifts it out of the muck and sets it back down in the slick, wet grass, frightened but unharmed, scrambling to its feet and away from the monster as soon as it gathers its bearings enough to flee. It scrambles back to its baaing herd, leaving Gueira chortling in amusement, Meis perched between his shoulders with a suede black cowboy hat shielding his tender skin from the budding sunlight that’s starting to seep back through the clouds after yesterday’s storm. He knows he must look a sight: a gothic cowboy, riding an alien monster through the midwestern Texas fells, herding sheep through the open gate below before Gueira closes it with a flick of his flexible tail.

Gueira carries him back to the barn, where Meis strains to heave a haybale onto his broad back for him to carry to the field for Rusty the retired racehorse, who whinnies in glee whenever he sees Gueira now. Not only has he realized that the monster isn’t there to eat him, but he delights in knowing that Gueira makes wonderfully challenging competition in their daily race across the field (which Gueira always lets him win, because he’s that much of a softie). Meis smiles as he watches them, Rusty surging forward at the last instant to win their little match, before Gueira comes panting back to the barn, giving Meis a nudge with his huge head that makes him stumble. Meis laughs, tugging him down by his massive snout and giving him a noogie between the horns. Gueira huffs, and then five slimy tongues are sliding up the length of Meis’ face, slickening his hair and knocking his cowboy hat off.

“Gross,” Meis remarks as he dries his face on the back of a forearm tattooed with a sleeve of black-and-white roses, faded with a few years of age. Gueira just huffs and gives him a cheeky grin as a pleasant post-rain breeze blows by, bringing with it the smell of wet grass and hay. He sneezes when Meis flicks his carton of Marlboros open and lights one, letting it dangle between his plump lips.

Meis is thinking about a late lunch when he hears gravel crunching beneath the wheels of vehicle. He isn’t expecting anyone. He turns to warn the monster beside him in the same instant that the wind changes direction, bringing with it the sharp tang of gasoline.

Gueira freezes.

Before Meis has time to respond, Gueira is jerking him up in his jaws and his cigarette is crumbling to paper and ash in the damp grass as the monster darts for the fields with him dangling from his jaws. His teeth shred through Meis’ crop top in a panic, glancing off his skin, and Meis yelps in surprise. Gueira stops only long enough to unceremoniously throw Meis onto his shoulders, before he’s jumping the fence and weaving through the panicked cattle that scatter in his wake. Smoke trickles from the corners of his sharply upturned lips and Meis can hear the roar of his flames even over Gueira’s panting as he rushes for the fells and the treeline beyond. What was always an ember before now sounds like an inferno. 

There’s commotion behind them. Meis hears vehicle doors slamming and people shouting, before it vanishes into the distance as Gueira lurches for the treeline - which promptly comes alive with gunfire. Gueira rears up onto his hindlimbs and bellows in fright, sending Meis careening backwards off his shoulders. He lands on his back, gasping hollowly as the breath is knocked out of him, Gueira’s tail cracking against the grass like a whip right beside him. The second time it comes down, Meis has to roll to avoid it, scraping the skin off his elbow and scrambling to his feet with his shirt hanging off his body in shreds. He whirls around when he hears more men coming up the hillside behind them, armed to the teeth with what looks like some sort of heavy artillery, while those previously concealed in the treeline close in from the opposite direction, weapons raised. A bullet strikes Gueira in the shoulder and instantly erupts into icicles, spiderwebbing across the smooth black hide like cracks in a windshield. He stumbles, forelimb giving out underneath him, steam billowing out of the vents behind his shoulderblades as his gaping jaws split wide around a plume of smoke, then erupt into a blast of fire that sends the intruders scattering, but only for a moment. They’re back in an instant, raining icy projectiles at Gueira as he hunkers low and roars at them, flames and heat spouting from the vents between the tall hard scutes on his back to form a flowing mane of fire from shoulders to tail tip. The red of his horns and claws glows fiercer than ever.

Panicked, Meis backs towards Gueira. There’s nowhere to run to, they’re completely surrounded. His arm touches Gueira’s billowing flames, but doesn’t burn, although he can certainly feel the suffocating heat flowing through the beast’s skin. A flexible tail engulfed in smoldering red flames curls around Meis and holds him close to Gueira’s flank, putting up an impenetrable wall of fire that dissipates any stray bullets that might hit him. Panic swells with a hot flash of fear in Meis’ chest as the chaos of it all overwhelms him. His ears throb with the rush of his own blood and the pounding of his own heart in his chest, or is it the roar of the fire around him as Gueira spews flames in every direction, putting up a wall of fire between them and the intruders? Over it all, there’s the shout of the people around them, the fire of their weapons, the mad scramble of chaos. Somewhere, a sheep mewls in fear. Meis hears all of it. Meis hears none of it. He’s pretty sure the rubber of his boots has melted off their soles. The world smells sickeningly of burning flesh and the wind is full of ashes. He distantly thinks about how, if it hadn’t rained the night prior, the entire fell would be up in flames by now.

Gueira’s ear-splitting roar awakens Meis from his trance. He jolts back to attention, suddenly acutely aware of the situation they’re in. These people are here for Gueira, no doubt, and he can’t let them take him. Around them, the wall of fire weakens, falling centimeter by centimeter as Gueira grits his fangs against the hail of ice that’s unleashed on him.

“Gueira,” Meis says, and he doesn’t know if he’s whispering or shouting. It catches the beast’s attention either way, the huge head swinging in his direction with an urgent shrill whine. “Gueira, you’ve gotta run. You’ve gotta go.”

Gueira whines again.

“I know, I’ll be fine, ya hear? You just get outta here, I’ll catch up to ya later,” Meis says, “I can’t let ‘em take you away an’ put you back in a cage. Go.  _ Go.  _ Don’t look back, either.”

Gueira’s snout tucks into Meis’ nape, rattling with a whimper. Around them, the fire grows steadily weaker. Someone shouts over all the other voices. A blast of ice punches a hole straight through the wall of flame. Gueira tries and fails to reseal it, before he presses his snout right back up against Meis with a gravely whisper of,  _ “Love you.” _

“I love you, too,” Meis says, “an’ I’ll love ya more still alive an’ in one piece, so go! Go now!”

There’s the fire-hot lave of a tongue on Meis’ cheek, and then the flames around them are spiraling outwards in a molten whirlwind that sends gunmen scattering and screaming and turns heavy artillery to slush. Gueira is gone in an instant, moving with surprisingly agility for a creature his size, clearing gunmen and fences and brush in great leaping bounds before he’s through the treeline and, hopefully, safe.

Meis’ pulse throbs in his temple as the gunfire dwindles, but not the shouts. People scatter, halfway down the hillside before one voice rings out loud and clear above all the rest, halting them in their tracks with an order of, “Let it go!”

A hand is around Meis’ arm in an instant, jerking him not only up off the ground, but clean off his feet, dangling him in the air like a ragdoll. His shoulder wrenches in its socket and he grits his teeth around a yelp of pain, knowing that such a noise would summon Gueira right back here and to what might possibly be a fate worse than death. Meis would much rather deal with a dislocated shoulder, pivoting on its throbbing joint to turn him face-to-face with an ugly man with a crocodile’s wickedly sharp grin and bulging golden eyes and a head as bald as a boiled egg, glistening with sweat around a black headset.

The bald man’s eyes bulge out even more when his brows shrink down into a smirk. If Meis wasn’t dangling from his arm, he would have punched him, just for spite. “Let him go!” the man shouts over his shoulder, “We’ve already got everything we need right here!”

There’s more hustle and bustle around Meis as the men start to retreat from the fell. He looks to the treeline, but Gueira isn’t there. His shoulder throbs, and he’s suddenly acutely aware that there’s blood streaming down one of his forearms from a four-inch gash along his elbow. Then, suddenly, the bald man is dropping him and he’s hitting the ground with a thump, yelping. He desperately hopes that Gueira isn’t close enough to hear.

Two hands seize Meis by the wrists, wrenching him to his feet yet again. He hears the click of handcuffs, the metal disconcertingly cold against his skin after the heat of Gueira’s flames. “You’ll call me Colonel Vulcan,” the bald man says as he starts to walk, more dragging than leading Meis away from the scene, “and you’re gonna tell me everything you know about that beast if you want to live.”

Jerking, Meis stumbles away from him, slinging the one arm he can still feel, rattling his handcuffs. He knows the look that must be on his face right now: well-manicured brows drawn down tightly over scowling blue eyes, with pouty lips drawn back in a disgusted sneer. He was raised a brat and he knows that, when he’s pissed, he looks it. “No,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.”

Vulcan looks at him, one eye bulging more than the other as he scowls. Then, he erupts into laughter.

Meis realizes as Vulcan’s fist is coming towards him that his knuckles are brass, each one armored with a metallic spike that twists downwards like a claw. He’s never had to  _ fight  _ for anything in his life, and he sure as hell doesn’t have the reflexes for it. Vulcan’s fist collides with his pretty slender face, sending blood splattering from one nostril as his snub nose shatters on impact. It knocks him clean on his ass, jarring him straight up his spine from his tailbone, so hard that his vision blurs white for a moment and he briefly forgets his own name. When he comes to half a second later, he’s only dimly aware that something sticky-wet is oozing down his right cheek, dripping like tears, if tears were thick and tasted like iron on his lips. He lifts both hands, bound in cuffs - who handcuffed him? and when? - and touches his face, chasing sticky-wet trails up to an empty eyesocket as it streams blood and fluid. Something slimy rolls between his fingertips as Vulcan hauls him to his feet once more, saying something to him that Meis doesn’t hear because he’s too in shock.

Meis will look back later and realize that the slimy something was his own eyeball, but right now, as he’s unceremoniously thrown into the back of what he thinks is some sort of armored vehicle with the rear doors slammed closed behind him, engulfing him in darkness, his thoughts are focused on only one thing.

_ Gueira.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Poor Meis.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was supposed to be the Emotional Tumoil(TM) chapter, but it was getting ridiculously long for a single chapter, so I elected to split it in half instead. Second half coming soon!

Meis sinks to his knees and faints before the armored truck reaches its destination. There were no windows in the back of it anyways, so he wouldn’t have known where he was being taken regardless. Yet, he still kicks himself for it later, when he remembers what the  _ fuck  _ just happened.

When Meis wakes, he’s in what looks like a cell, on a stretcher that’s been haphazardly laid on a bed with a chipboard frame and a paper-thin mattress like that in a college dorm. There’s the  _ beep-beep-beep  _ of a heart monitor and he feels the IV shift in his arm when he first dares to move, opening his eyes - his  _ eye  _ \- to the dimly lit room and groaning softly in an immediate onset of searing-hot pain. He doesn’t remember what happened to him at first, why his shoulder aches, why his entire left arm is done up in sloppy gauze bandages, why his vision seems just ever so slightly off-kilter.

Then, he realizes there’s an emptiness beside him where Gueira should be and is suddenly acutely aware of what went down. He has no idea where he is, except that it’s mostly dark and rather cold and, besides the beeping of his heart monitor, he can only hear his own heavy breathing and the drip of water somewhere. His gaze flickers to the ceiling. There’s a single light fixture embedded in the stained concrete there, along with way too many emergency sprinklers for a room this size. It hurts to think right now, but Meis doesn’t have to guess twice to know that this must be somewhere that a Burnish would be held.

Meis feels dizzy, so he sinks back down into his flimsy excuse for a bed and closes his one eye. Tentatively, his fingers raise to the right side of his face, feeling along scabby fresh wounds still sticky-wet with dried blood, before he reaches the empty socket. It’s been sewn closed; he can feel the gentle prick of the stitches and isn’t able to blink it, though he isn’t certain he would be able to, anyways, without the eyeball there to blink around. He’s always been a man renowned for his good looks, beloved only for his pretty face among suitors long past, and he knows that the wound will scar hideously. But, if it would save his Gueira, he would do it again. He would let that bastard Colonel Vulcan claw  _ both  _ his eyes out on barbed brass knuckles if it meant that Gueira could be safe and free and not here in this cage in his place.

Something in the corner of the room moves. Meis hears it shuffle and his one eye shoots open, so quickly that it makes him nauseous. He looks around. The something in the corner moves again, creeping towards him. His vision is no longer as sharp on that side and trying to turn his head sends unbearable pain shooting through his shoulder (which, he notes, has been popped back into its joint, presumably by the same person who did his stitches) and it still hurts to think, so he settles for grunting nonchalantly at it. His body is too tired to panic.

A pointed snout emerges from the shadows to his right and snuffles his hand where it hangs limply at his side. Then, a dainty pink tongue flicks out to lick it, smudging his skin with familiar sticky saliva.

“You’re a Burnish,” Meis says into the room, voice feeble, “Knew Gueira couldn’t be the last one. Ya gotta name?”

His voice seems to startle the Burnish, who retreats into the shadows with a shrill whine. Weakly, Meis pats his palm on the side of his stretcher-bed, clicking his tongue. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt ya. C’mere.”

The Burnish comes closer. Meis can turn his head only just enough to see its obsidian-black shape emerging slowly from the shadows. It’s smaller than Gueira, but easily twice his size, yet it cowers in fear at the mere sight of him, slinking towards him the way an abused dog reluctantly answers to its cruel master. Meis instantly pities it, offering a palm for it to sniff, then slowly sliding his fingers along its snout. It resembles Gueira, but only vaguely, with a slender, black form that terminates in a flexible tail with a kink in it. It has the same humanoid hands on its forelimbs; Meis can’t see its hindlimbs in enough detail to describe them yet. But, where Gueira’s ferocious teeth were twisted into an omnipresent grin that glowered bright green, this Burnish had a downturned scowl instead, with large fangs glowing sky blue. Where Gueira has two curved horns, it has only one, twisted around itself in a spiral like one might see in an illustration of a unicorn, extending a full foot or more from its forehead. It has little triangular shapes on its head like ears, too, which twitch when Meis hums at it, stroking its snout gently.

After several minutes, it starts to make a sound that Meis recognizes as a purr. He smiles weakly.

“Thyma,” the beast rumbles, surprising him. He tries to nod, but the motion makes him wince in pain. The Burnish coos, nuzzling his palm soothingly. 

“Thyma,” Meis repeats, “Nice to meet ya. I’m Meis.”

“Meis is a human,” Thyma rumbles, speaking much more clearly and neatly than Gueira does in his monster form.

“I am,” he says and doesn’t try to nod this time.

“Injured,” Thyma says, its snout turned towards Meis’ bandaged shoulder. There’s a lock of hair over his missing eye, which it promptly noses away. Even without eyes, Meis can tell that it’s studying the wound, “Will scar.”

“I know,” Meis says, “That bastard Vulcan did that.”

Thyma’s teeth rattle with a snarl at the mere mention of his name. Meis clicks his tongue in agreement and resumes petting it. Petting  _ her _ , he decides after a few minutes, but it’s hard to tell with Burnish.

“Yeah, I know, don’t care for ‘em myself,” Meis retorts, “Say, are there any other Burnish ‘ere?”

Thyma shakes her head from side-to-side. “Only me.”

“Were there ever others?” Meis asks.

Thyma nods. “A long time ago. Humans killed them.”

“I know,” Meis says, “Gueira told me.”

Thyma’s ears perk up. “You know of Gueira?”

“Yeah,” Meis says, “I’m his mate. Did ya know him?”

“Gueira and Lio were part of pack,” Thyma grates out. She stutters sometimes, possibly with anxiety, but she speaks quite nicely. Meis suspects she must talk to humans a lot, especially if they’re her only company here. “Thought Gueira was dead.”

“He escaped,” Meis tells her, “From the looks o’ it, you did, too.”

Thyma shakes her head, her sharp little ears flattening. “No. Humans kept me. Said I was safe. Tame. Needed me.”

Meis thinks about it, even though his head hurts when he does. Thyma appears young - at least, younger than Gueira, he isn’t actually certain how Burnish age or how long they can live. “Were ya born here?” he asks after a moment.

“No, but I was a cub when humans brought pack here,” Thyma says, “Been here a long time. Use me for experiments.”

Something in Meis’ gut twists. “What kinda experiments?”

“Make medicine for humans,” Thyma says, then her tongue lolls from her mouth and splits into two, laving over a bloody scrape on Meis’ wrist. It tingles briefly, then starts to heal before his very eye. But, it isn’t a surprise to him; Meis knew from his time with Gueira that Burnish had accelerated healing abilities. Gueira’s saliva had caused the bite wound on his shoulder to scab over nearly instantly and, within the day, it was completely healed except for the scars, and then they had faded to nearly nothing shortly thereafter. It’s handy, certainly, especially around the farm where cuts and bruises are bound to happen, but Meis had never considered the greater potential for it. Clearly, someone else had.

“Thanks,” Meis says meekly, scratching her chin, “Do they hurt you here?”

Thyma’s pointy little ears droop. “Heris doesn’t. Others will. Vulcan. Bad humans.”

“Who’s Heris?” Meis asks.

“Doctor,” Thyma tells him, “She does science.”

“Are there other creatures here, besides Burnish?” 

“Sometimes,” Thyma says, “Don’t survive very long, usually.”

“Where  _ is  _ here?” Meis dares to ask.

Thyma quietens, considering it. “Here has no name. Secret place.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Meis grumbles, “Ya got any water?”

“Heris will feed and water you,” Thyma says.

Grunting, Meis tries to sit up, immediately regrets it, and sinks back down. “I’m not an animal.”

Thyma tilts her head to one side. “Neither am I.”

It hits Meis hard. Thyma is a Burnish, just like Gueira, and it sounds like she hasn’t known freedom since she was a child. She’s a prisoner here, a captive forced into experiments that he imagines can’t be terribly humane. When she moves a certain way, he can just glimpse the way her arms and ankles are wrapped up in gauze that’s stained through with muddy grey. The cell doesn’t look or smell clean. She’s as human as he is, and yet she’s suffered here in silence for god knows how long, with no hope of rescue or escape. His heart aches for her.

He doesn’t have much time to linger on it, before footsteps coming down the hallway interrupt his train of thought, echoing hollowly off concrete walls. There are no windows in the cell, but there is one door, which looks like it’s some sort of metal, with a set of bars between it and the cell. It unlocks with a hiss, a seal audibly popping the way an industrial freezer does, and slides aside, the bars disappearing into the wall horizontally, one-by-one, until the newcomer can enter.

A strawberry-blonde woman in a doctor’s coat and high heels clicks into the cell, glasses sitting down low on the bridge of her nose. Her gaze flickers to Thyma, who has since retreated back into the corner, then to Meis, who is trying to sit up again.

“You would be wise to stay down,” she warns him, “Your shoulder was dislocated. I apologize for Colonel Vulcan. He isn’t gentle.”

“Like  _ hell  _ he isn’t,” Meis spits venomously. Belatedly, he realizes what she’s wearing and his heart sinks all over again.  _ Whitecoat. _

“I apologize for the accommodations. I’ve turned the temperature up, so you won’t freeze to death in here,” the whitecoat says, “The colonel wanted to start your interrogation right away, but I insisted on the medical exam. Good thing I did, too. You needed it.”

“Congrats,” Meis deadpans, “Ya did the bare minimum. Cut to the chase, lady. Why am I ‘ere?”

“We’ve discovered through your internet history that you’ve had an encounter with an anomaly, much like this one,” the whitecoat tells him, gesturing mechanically to Thyma where she cowers in the corner, “That anomaly is an extremely rare species. We’ve been tracking it for years. It’s very elusive, however, and this is the closest we’ve ever come to recapturing it. Since you appear to have been... _ close _ to this anomaly, we were hoping you might be able to help us.”

“Eat shit and burn in hell, lady,” Meis retorts, the arm he can move crossed over his chest and his one eyebrow furrowed into a scowl, “I ain’t no snitch.”

She sighs. “I promise your cooperation will be better for you in the long run. If I can’t get the answers we need from you, Vulcan will be allowed to proceed with his interrogation.”

“So, you’re gonna threaten me,” Meis says, “and then Colonel Vulture is probably gonna torture me or some shit. Cool. I still ain’t talkin’.”

The woman sighs again. “My name is Heris. I’ve had a call button temporarily installed - right here, beside the headboard - so, you can call me if you need anything. I’ll bring you something to eat and drink when I bring food for Experiment 39.” She shows him the call button, then gestures vaguely to Thyma.

Meis feels it stoke his ire. “Her  _ name  _ is Thyma,” he spits at her as she turns to leave, the door sliding ajar before her.

The whitecoat stops. “It told you its name.”

“She did.”

“Her name is Thyma?” the whitecoat more asks than says, “She’s been here twenty years and I’ve never heard her name before. You...truly have a way with them, don’t you?”

“Uh, I talk to her like she’s a  _ person _ , you miserable bitch,” Meis snarls through gritted teeth, even though it makes his jaw ache, “She  _ is  _ a person. You realize that, right? Burnish are  _ people _ , they’re not anomalies or whatever the fuck ya called ‘em. You’re experimentin’ on fuckin’ people an’ you’re just  _ okay  _ with that?”

Heris looks at him unblinkingly, her pretty face creased into a frown, then leaves without a word. Meis snorts after her, flopping back down in his bed with a wince.

From the corner, Thyma stirs. “Don’t worry,” her gravely but sweet voice comes, “Heris won’t hurt you.”

“Colonel Vulture will,” Meis says, sighing, “But whatever. Let ‘em hurt me. I ain’t tellin’ ‘em shit about Gueira. They’ll kill me before I let ‘em catch him.”

Thyma is quiet for awhile. Then, she crawls towards him, to nuzzle her snout back into his limp hand. It’s cold in the cell and her warmth feels familiar and reassuring. It reminds him of Gueira.

A few minutes tick by in silence, then Thyma leans in close and says, “Help is coming.”

Meis twitches his head towards her only an inch and still winces at the sting. “Huh?”

“There was another human here, a little while ago,” Thyma says, “He came with the bad man. Bad man locked him up in here. I burned him. I was scared. I felt bad.”

Meis is beginning to feel delirious, perhaps from blood loss, perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from the shock finally wearing off and letting him feel the full extent of his wounds. Perhaps a little of all of it. He closes his one eye. “Who’s the bad man?”

When Thyma says it, she says it softly, the way one whispers the name of the devil.  _ “Kray Foresight.” _

“Never heard of ‘em,” Meis mumbles tiredly, “Did the fella ya burned have a name?”

“Called himself Galo Thymos,” Thyma whispers. She must sense that Meis is tired, because she sits back on her haunches and rests her head beside him, hot air blowing gently against his skin from her slit nostrils. She’s trying to keep him warm, he realizes in the back of his mind. Truly, she’s too sweet a soul to ever be in a place like this. Cruelty hasn’t made her cold. Meis admires that, when he thinks about it. “Said he would get help.”

“How did he escape?” Meis asks in a mumble, only half awake now, even though he knows this is important and he should listen.

“I burned him out,” Thyma says, “There was an air vent, much too small for me. Burnt the grate off. He crawled in and escaped. Heris asked where he went. I said I ate him. But then, she saw the grate was gone and all burnt up. Big trouble.”

“Did they punish you?” Meis isn’t sure he wants to know, even as he asks it.

Thyma nods. “That was when Vulcan brought the collar.”

Meis’ one eye cracks open, flickering down to Thyma’s slender neck, which almost looks too thin to support her elongated head. He has to squint hard to see it through the semi-darkness with his vision already blurry at the edges, but when he does, he realizes that Thyma  _ is  _ wearing a collar, a metallic ring around her neck splintering outwards with icicles.

“I can’t make fire with it on,” Thyma says, “and I can’t reach it to chew it off.”

Meis reaches for it.

Thyma jerks away. “Don’t, will hurt you.”

“But it’s hurting  _ you _ ,” Meis whines. Thyma rests her head beside him again, her prick ears drooping. 

“Many things hurt me,” Thyma whispers into the shadows of the cell, “But Galo promised he would come back for me. Said he would get help.”

“Who’s gonna help us now?” Meis mutters, frowning at the ceiling, “Gueira don’t know where I am. This Galo fella could never come back.”

“Don’t lose hope,” Thyma says as she rests her chin on his chest, radiating warmth, “Galo said he was bringing a friend.”

Meis is slightly delirious. His shoulder throbs in its socket. Underneath the mess of bandages winding up the length of his arm, scrapes and bruises sting. The empty hole in his face where his right eye used to be sends pain pounding through his entire head, until his vision blurs and he has to close his eyes, nauseated. “Who?” he asks softly.

He’s so tired and out of it that he almost thinks he imagines it when Thyma lifts her head and says with a hope that no creature in her situation should ever have,  _ “Lio.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but did anyone actually believe Lio was dead? No. No one. Freeze Force ain't shit. Lio obviously escaped.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a monster of a chapter. Scenes with Lio, Galo, and Aina and with Galo and Thyma take place BEFORE the previous chapters, they're placed here to provide enlightenment on what went down with Galo and Lio before Gueira and Meis met without ruining the reveal that Lio was still alive all along. Just keep that in mind while reading. :)

Morning comes. Meis’ empty eye socket throbs. His shoulder aches. His throat is so dry that he can hardly whisper for water, but no one brings it. It’s cold in the cell, but Thyma is still there when he grimaces awake with a groan, exhaling warmth on his lithe little chest while her eyeless gaze watches the sealed door. She sits with her tail tucked between her legs, he notices, scratching lightly at her snout when he remembers how to use his arm. Even the slightest twitch of his fingers hurts.

Their first visitor is Heris, who comes to feed and water Thyma and change the IV bag hanging on a hook beside Meis’ makeshift hospital bed. She leaves him a granola bar he’s too nauseous to eat and a bottle of water that he sucks down in great thirsty gulps even though it’s room temperature. Heris makes no effort to talk to him today, which is some small mercy, until he remembers what that more than likely means is coming shortly.

Sure enough, the next time the sealed door unlatches and the bars slide into the wall, Colonel Vulcan stands sneering in the doorway, so broad and tall that he has to duck through the frame when he enters the room. There’s some sort of bulky gun hoisted over his shoulder. Thyma shrinks back into her corner, rumbling with a growl, but Vulcan doesn’t acknowledge her. He grunts as he crosses the room to Meis’ bed and makes him yelp, jerking the IV out of his arm without a word and leaving it hanging and bloody at the bedside as he hauls the slender man to his feet. He scowls when Meis’ legs buckle underneath him from disuse, giving him a sharp shove. “Stand up,” he snarls in a voice that promises he’s going to enjoy this.

The room that Vulcan brings Meis to is dark and small, with a single bulb hanging by a wire from the ceiling, concrete floor and walls stained with water leaks. There’s a fly buzzing against the only window, which is tinted such that Meis can’t see out, but anyone out in the hallway can see in. Vulcan unceremoniously drops him into a folding chair, then sits across from him at a stainless steel table, scattered with envelopes and papers and what might be a tape recorder. There’s a plastic bag laying among the paperwork, labeled  _ evidence  _ in red marker. From it, Vulcan procures Meis’ tablet, which he recognizes by the smudgy cracked screen and the image that appears on it when Vulcan taps it: a photo of him and Gueira, a pointed red chin rested on his shoulder as he cups the monster’s snout to direct it towards the camera. He had taken it with the intention of no one else ever seeing it, because he wanted a harmless selfie with his boyfriend for his lockscreen.

Meis’ heart sinks. Vulcan sets the tablet face-down on the table. “Cooperate or else,” he warns, “We know you’re close to the anomaly. You’re going to bring him to us.”

“Eat shit,” Meis snorts, pushing himself back on two legs in the chair. Vulcan is either an idiot or doesn’t consider him a threat, because he didn’t bother to handcuff or restrain him.

It’s clearly the latter, because Meis is dangling by the collar of his tattered shirt in an instant, as Vulcan shakes him the way a Rottweiler shakes a chew toy. “Thought you might say that,” he laughs, then tosses Meis to the floor like a ragdoll and kicks him in the ribs. Meis yelps.

“That’s right,” Vulcan remarks, reaching for the tape recorder that lays among his evidence, “Cry. Scream. That’s  _ exactly  _ what I want.”

And he rears back to kick Meis again.

* * *

Galo Thymos didn’t have work today - and, when he doesn’t have work, he has nothing better to occupy himself with than a motorcycle ride through the woodsy trails that weave around the side of the mountain, dusty gravel paths he knows like the back of his hand after years of riding them, even though his street bike is less than suited for it. He’s lived in Promepolis his entire life, first with his mom and dad and then with his foster father Kray Foresight and his secretary Biar after the housefire that took his family from him prematurely. But, it was okay, he thought. More than okay, because he found a new family. He found Kray. And Kray found him a good education and a good job at the Promepolis Fire Department. Most people can at least tolerate their job. Others can bear it for a paycheck. But Galo? Galo loves his job like he loves life itself and willingly spends most of his time there. Even now, as he winds around a familiar bend around the mountain, the trees dark, leafless shapes around as autumn wind whips at his cheap plasticky windbreaker, he thinks that, as fun as this is, he would rather be at work.

It’s late, his thumb switching his headlights on as he weaves through the trees, sending fallen leaves up in crunchy orange plumes around him, the evening slowly dwindling into night. He should head back, he decides, and does a U-turn on his bike when the trail widens out enough for him to have room, beginning his descent back down the mountain.

He rounds a turn and something huge and black is looming right in his path.

Aina warned him months ago to stop riding his bike this time of night, because he was going to hit a deer sooner or later. She was right, Galo thinks in the back of his mind as he tries and fails to brake in time, his street bike slamming directly into the flank of what must be the biggest goddamn deer he’s ever seen.

Galo flies one way. The deer flies the other. His motorbike spins out from underneath him and off into the ditch, where it finally sputters to a halt with a stream of smoke choking out from its tailpipe. Groaning, Galo sits upright in the brush that seems to have mercifully broken his fall - he always was lucky, Kray had said, always surviving scrapes with death unscathed from the time his parents burned alive in a housefire - and removes his helmet, rubbing his temples before he tentatively checks each limb, twitching each finger and toe and finding them all to be in working order. Nothing seems broken. The worst of the damage seems to be a scrape on his shin that isn’t even noteworthy. He’s in no pain. Kray was right: he’s always lucky. If there exists a higher power, it must have some sort of fondness for Galo to have spared him so many times.

Galo is getting to his feet when he remembers that he hit a  _ deer  _ and immediately crashes off into the brush in search of it. He might have escaped unscathed, but it was a hard hit and the animal must be hurt. He can’t imagine any woodland creature taking a hit from a motorcycle half as well as the great Galo Thymos. He finds it on the side of the dusty dirt road, its flank heaving hard and fast where it lays on its side in the ditch, across from his bike.

It isn’t a deer.

Galo isn’t sure  _ what  _ it is, because he’s never seen anything quite like it in his many years in Promepolis. It’s a large animal, twice the size of a deer, with a tough leathery hide as shiny and black as his bike when he waxes it. It’s unconscious, he thinks, but it’s hard to tell because Galo isn’t even sure it has eyes (and thinks for one horrifying moment that he must have hit it so hard that its eyeballs  _ popped out  _ of their sockets, before he realizes that’s probably unlikely). Elongated jaws dripping with razor-sharp, glinting-white teeth hang open around a bright green tongue, oozing blood from the impact - except the blood is black as the night and looks more like oil. A long, slender tail trails out behind it, curling into itself at the tip. Its legs are very long, like stilts, and have pointed tips that don’t even vaguely resemble toes. It looks more machine than animal, except that it’s breathing - shallowly, sending shudders up ribs that are clearly shattered and broken. When it exhales, smoke comes billowing up from its insides, startling Galo, and then it whines pathetically. Definitely not a deer. 

Hurriedly, Galo wrestles his cracked iPhone out of his pants pocket and flicks through his contacts, holding it to his ear as it rings and rings. Finally, someone picks up.

“Aina,” Galo gasps, urgent and breathless, “Aina, I hit a dog!”

* * *

The kick connects with Meis’ battered ribs, but he refuses to make a sound.

“C’mon!” Vulcan taunts him as he rears back for another, “Make some noise! Yell! Get mad a little! Scream!”

“Go to hell!” Meis snarls and spits at him. Vulcan kicks him in the jaw so hard that Meis feels one of his molars crack from the impact.

“The only one  _ going to hell  _ here is you!” Vulcan laughs, his ugly face splitting around a gaping grin that’s as full of wickedly sharp teeth as Gueira’s, but somehow, the look doesn’t work half as well on him, only serving to emphasize his ugliness, “You disgust me! Fucking a  _ Burnish! _ You look like the type who would bend over for just about anyone or anything, but that’s a new low, even for a whore like you. But, it works out for us!”

Vulcan rears back and kicks Meis again. This time, his boot connects with Meis’ chest. The air rushes out of him, leaving him gasping where he lays on the floor. 

“You’re our  _ golden ticket  _ to finally catching that damned anomaly!” Vulcan snarls, pointedly digging the toe of his boot into Meis’ wounded shoulder. Meis bares his teeth around a yelp, gritting them so hard it hurts. He can’t make a sound no matter how much it hurts. He won’t. “C’mon, pretty boy, I need you to  _ scream _ . Call for your  _ mate _ , Burnish fucker, and he’ll come runnin’ right to us!”

“Not on your life,” Meis spits. Vulcan silences him with another kick, then jerks him up by the shirt collar and slams him into the wall behind them, sending the air rushing out of him in a sharp gasp of pain.

“Am I gonna have to claw your other eye out?” 

* * *

Aina meets Galo at his apartment, where he’s struggling to carry something massive wrapped up in a bright blue tarp through the door without anyone noticing. Fortunately, it’s a weeknight and things are quiet at this hour, with no commotion except for them squeezing the huge  _ something  _ through the narrow door frame and into the kitchen, where Galo sends everything on his kitchen table scattering across the tiled floor with a panicked sweep of his arm.

“Good  _ God _ , Galo!” Aina exclaims when she sees the sheer size of the thing he’s carrying, “What kind of dog did you hit, exactly? The Cerberus?”

“Shush!” Galo says, “Go get the med kit!”

Aina is already on her way to the bathroom. “Sheesh, bossy!”

Galo returns his attention to the creature on his kitchen table, carefully tugging the tarp away and dropping it on the floor. Blood black as oil streams from the animal’s maw, trickling off the edge of the table. It isn’t breathing as hard as it was and, petrified for a moment that it’s dead and he killed it, Galo reaches out to touch it barehanded for the first time.

He jerks his hand away. The creature is  _ hot _ , hot like an oven rack or a pot of water left to boil. He’s no stranger to the heat, of course, but he wasn’t aware that animals ran so  _ warm _ .

He’s checking for a pulse when Aina returns from the bathroom, drops the med kit on the floor, and  _ screams. _

“Galo! What the  _ hell  _ is that?!”

Startled, Galo screams, too, and now they’re both just standing in his kitchen with an unknown animal bleeding out on his table. The upstairs neighbors must be deeply alarmed. “It’s...It’s a dog! I think!”

“Galo, that is  _ not  _ a dog!” Aina shouts.

Galo is already kneeling to gather up the first aid supplies she sent scattering across the kitchen floor, grabbing them by handfuls hurriedly. “Well, whatever it is, it’s dying! We have to do something!”

“ _ Why  _ did you bring it back here to begin with? You should’ve just left it in the woods! Where it belongs!”

“Because I  _ ran it over _ , Aina! I have to take responsibility! If it dies now, it’s my fault! I can’t kill a  _ dog!” _ Galo is hurriedly searching for external wounds, grabbing the little flashlight he keeps by the entryway for when he walks out to his bike on dark winter mornings and skimming it along the sleek black body. Nothing seems to be bleeding, beyond a few minor scrapes and cuts that he isn’t worried about.

Aina has both hands clenched in her hair, about to tear it clean out of its ponytail. “It’s not a dog!”

“Aina, shut up and help me!”

* * *

Meis’ shoulder aches and he’s heaving so hard that his lungs feel numb. He can practically feel the bruises already forming, purple-black on paper-white skin. How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Time blurs together as his mind grows numb to the battering pain of kicking and punching and slapping.

Vulcan leaves him, but only briefly. When he returns, Meis hears the electric crackle of a taser. He grits his teeth and braces himself.

“Are you ready to cooperate?” Vulcan asks.

“Never,” Meis says, and Vulcan shocks him.

* * *

Someone is screaming. Something crashes to the floor. Everything is too bright.

Lio wishes the humans would shut up already. There’s no need for so much fuss. Certainly, it had hurt when the human  _ ran him over  _ with his motorcycle, and it had been a nasty surprise just how much it had hurt, but Lio has been through worse. So much worse, in fact, that this is really only a minor inconvenience to him - and he’s already handling it, smoke trickling up from his slit nostrils and out from between his fangs, the flames licking away at the crushed ribs and fractured femur from the inside out. Whatever the flames touch, they heal, eating away broken bone and battered tissue and replacing it anew. He’ll hold still until the flames have done their deed, and then he’ll be on his feet and out the window to his left before the humans even have time to respond. Hopefully, they haven’t taken any photos of him yet. The last thing he needs is Foresight’s people getting a heads up on his whereabouts.

Smoke billows out of his mouth while the two humans bicker. Then, suddenly, something is beeping - loudly. Each shrill burst of noise sends a sharp shock of pain through Lio’s skull and, with a snarl, he lifts his head and belts out an offended noise at it.

“Shh, shh, Aina! Shut that thing up!” the blue-haired human is shouting. He’s loud, too, but it’s less grating than the smoke detector, somehow.

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” the other human says. Her hair is lighter, pinkish with blonde roots. She must dye it. Something about her looks  _ eerily  _ familiar, but Lio can’t think straight with the flames roaring within him and the smoke detector beeping incessantly. 

Pink-Hair fumbles with the smoke detector for a moment more, before Lio’s flexible tail is snapping it straight out of her hands with a well-timed flick, sending it shattering across the kitchen tiles. It silences instantly. Much better, Lio thinks, laying his head back down.

“See?  _ Not  _ a dog!” Pink-Hair blurts.

Blue-Hair makes an offended noise. “Then what is it?! I thought it was a deer when I hit it, but it doesn’t have hooves!”

“Yeah, no  _ shit _ , it doesn’t have hooves, because it has  _ knives for feet _ ! I don’t know what it is, but it sure as hell doesn’t belong here!”

Lio wants to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t have any. He can see them perfectly clearly, however, sensing their shapes and colors and movements with his heat vision. But, since he has no eyes for them to base it on, he lets them think that he’s fallen back asleep or passed out or whatever, while keeping a careful eye on them. Blue-Hair is approaching him again, feeling along his injured flank, applying gauze over nothing.

“Galo, that’s  _ not  _ gonna help,” Pink-Hair snarks.

“I know, I know, but I don’t know what else to  _ do _ , Aina!” the blue-haired one, Galo, replies, and then something is velcroing around Lio’s foreleg and steadily tightening. He has to fight his instincts hard not to react.

“Galo!” Aina, the pink-haired human, shouts almost scoldingly, “Are you  _ taking its blood pressure?!” _

“Yeah, and it’s like,  _ really  _ high!” Galo belts back.

Lio can’t possibly imagine why.

* * *

Meis convulses on the floor for a few seconds after the last taze. It feels like a few  _ hours _ .

“Where’s your mate now, huh?” Vulcan taunts him, crouching down to give his head a shove when Meis looks like he might be about to faint. Meis winces, but refuses to make a sound. “One little scream and you just  _ know  _ he’ll come running, won’t he? That’s why you’re being so damn stubborn!”

“Guess you’ll jus’ have to kill me,” Meis snorts, his bottom lip cracked and dripping blood down his chin, “Cuz I ain’t tellin’ ya shit ‘bout Gueira, and I ain’t leadin’ him into your lil’ trap. He don’t know where I am, so as long as I keep quiet, you’re fuckin’ out o’ luck, Colonel Vulture.”

Vulcan’s ugly face is suddenly filling Meis’ vision as he’s unceremoniously jerked to his feet, dangling by his shirt collar yet again, one of the colonel’s eyes bulging out further than ever as he studies him with a sharp cruel smirk. “Oh, is that  _ so?  _ You really  _ don’t  _ get it, do you?”

He tazes Meis, who can’t hold back a whine this time, then tosses him into the corner, where he hits the floor with a thump. Everything hurts. “Don’t get  _ what?” _

* * *

Lio doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he did. It was almost nice, in a way, being here in this human home for a few hours while he slept with his guard down, somewhere that Foresight’s people would never think to look for him. He lifts his head as he awakens and realizes that he’s no longer in the kitchen, but on a bed.

He’s never slept in a bed, not once in his entire life.

It’s comfortable. The blankets are warm, soft. The room is pleasantly cool, a fan rotating on its axis nearby, the quarters lit by only a single lamp sitting beneath its shade on the nightstand. Things are much calmer now than when the two humans were arguing over him in the kitchen earlier that day.

To sleep here for a few hours has been a pleasant luxury, but Lio can feel that his form has fully healed itself, and he should leave now.

But, when he starts to move, Lio realizes that he’s not alone. The human with a shock of blue hair - Galo, he thinks - is on his knees beside the bed, his chin rested on his folded arms as he sleeps with his mouth hanging open around a rumbling snore. Silently, Lio shifts away from him and off the other side of the bed, pausing only when he notices his reflection in the full-body mirror hanging on the closed closet door nearby. Someone has wound bandages around him, wrapping him up tight and securing it with a safety pin. It did him absolutely no good, of course, but still...it was kind of them to try.

Lio cranes his neck backwards to unfasten the safety pin, sending the gauze unraveling into a heap on the carpeted floor. He looks around for an exit - and spots a window. Fortunately, Galo’s residence seems to be on the first floor, he should be able to slip out of it and disappear into the late-night street before anyone notices him. He presses his snout to the dappled dirty glass, his hot breath fogging it up instantly, and checks the street in both directions. It’s empty.

A single red speck of light at the corner of the neighboring building catches his attention. He hisses. A security camera.

His hiss causes Galo to stir. The human lifts his head, jaws gaping in a yawn, and stretches with his arms held high up over his head. “Oh, hey, you’re awake!” he says, so loudly and boisterously that Lio almost thinks he’s shouting, but maybe he’s just excitable, “How do you feel, bud? Listen, I am  _ so  _ sorry I ran you over!”

Lio looks at him uncomprehendingly. Does he  _ expect  _ him to answer? He had overheard Galo insisting to his pink-haired friend that he was a dog. Should he bark?

“Oh, man, you must be super thirsty! Lemme get you some water. Are you hungry?” Galo asks, on his feet in an instant and patting his hip gently, as if to encourage Lio to follow him.

Lio follows no one.

But, with the way that Galo glances back at him over his broad shoulder and gives him what can only be described as the warmest smile in the world, Lio suddenly feels compelled to break his own rules. He clicks after Galo, each footstep sounding sharply against the tiles and making him grateful yet again that Galo’s residence is on the bottom floor.

Galo takes him to the kitchen. He’s digging a mixing bowl out of the cabinets and filling it up with water from the sink when Lio creeps up behind him.

Sharp fangs sink into Galo’s shoulder with a searing-hot pain, but it’s over in an instant - and then Lio’s three tongues are rolling along the wound, sealing it with sticky-wet saliva and kickstarting the healing process. Predictably, Galo yelps, dropping the mixing bowl and sending water splashing across the tiles. 

Lio expects his ire when he wheels around to face him, but Galo’s face speaks only of compassion. “Oh...you must be so freaked out right now,” he hums, cupping a palm over the bite wound as it seeps droplets of blood. Lio creeps forward, tongues flicking out to lick them away. “It’s okay, I’m not mad. You don’t have to apologize. I know you’re probably really scared right now, but I promise, I’ll take you back home to the woods first thing tomorrow!”

Lio had wanted to leave tonight. He never stays still for too long. Settling is a luxury he can’t afford, even when it seems relatively safe here. He doubts Foresight would think to look for him right underneath his own nose, in the very heart of Promepolis, and in a human residence, no less. Even so, he would like to return to the relative wilderness outside the city, where he feels more secure, as soon as possible - but it would be difficult to evade an entire city’s worth of security cameras without someone somewhere catching a glimpse of him, however fast, and the wrong people finding out he was here.

The fastest solution was to take human form, so Lio had bitten Galo. And if Galo wants to respond to his unkind act of violence with an offer of a free ride back to the lakeside, then so be it. Lio will be more than happy to take advantage of his foolish kindness.

Lio licks Galo’s shoulder until it ceases to bleed. Galo cleans up the spilled water, then refills the bowl. Lio drains it thirstily, then accepts the cold slices of leftover pizza that Galo feeds him from the palm of his hand, like Lio hadn’t just taken a chunk out of him. Truly, this isn’t a very bright human, but Lio almost admires the extent of his empathy. Almost.

“You’re really freaky-looking, bud, but it’s kind of sick,” Galo hums tiredly as he feeds Lio the last slice of pizza, covering a yawn with his greasy hand, “You tired? You can have my bed tonight, if you want. I feel like I owe it to you, since I ran you over and all. I’ll just sleep on the couch!”

Lio tilts his head at him. Galo is treating this entire exchange incredibly casually. Maybe he really  _ does  _ believe that Lio is a dog, even though Lio is easily as tall as Galo on all fours, with a clearly prehensile tail stroking along his sore ribs occasionally and three towering horns arranged like a crown atop his narrow head and a mouthful of sharky teeth that  _ glow in the dark.  _ Either humans have started to breed some incredibly strange dogs, or Galo is an idiot.

Still, Lio almost likes him. 

Galo is true to his word and lets Lio take his bed that night. He even tucks a blanket in around him and scratches underneath his chin before he bids him goodnight. Lio pretends he doesn’t hear his own tail gently thumping against the mattress.

Part of Lio wonders where Pink-Hair went and why she seemed so familiar to him, even though he’s certain he’s never met her. Part of him wonders if Galo has told someone else about him, or taken photos of him while he was asleep, or alerted any authorities. The part of him that’s playing stupid could easily be a ploy, something to lower his guard until the proper people arrive to contain and capture him. Trusting a human is nearly always foolish, Lio has long since learned in his many, many years on the run.

But, one look into Galo’s very big, very blue eyes tells him that the man is no liar. It’s so rare for a human to be anything but self-serving that it almost startles Lio to see it. Every instinct in his lithe black body should scream at him to run.

Instead, he thinks he should stay. 

The following morning, Galo awakens to the Burnish beast mysteriously gone and a beautiful blonde man sleeping peacefully in his bed. When the man opens his eyes, they’re breathtakingly purple, like amethysts dappling the bottom of an ocean floor. He tells Galo everything, and then he asks for his help.

* * *

“Burnish,” Vulcan hisses as he drives the taser between Meis’ shoulder blades until his ribcage rattles with a scream that tears out of him before he can stop it, “mate for life.”

The electricity finally ceases to course through Meis’ backside and he crumbles to the floor with a gasping breath, tasting blood on his tongue from the many, many times Vulcan has hit him. “So what?” he coughs.

“So, your anomaly will come for you, pretty boy,” Vulcan snarls, tipping Meis’ chin up with the toe of his boot, “That thing would follow you to the ends of the earth! We could have shipped you off to another country and it would still find a way back to you! Those Burnish are the most powerful force on earth, and yet they’re soft for just  _ one  _ thing. Their precious little mates. I’ve never seen a creature so  _ disgustingly  _ doting as a Burnish. You weren’t just a nice warm hole for that beast to stick it in, the stupid thing adores you. And that means...it’ll walk right into our trap as soon as it realizes you’re here. And even if you won’t cooperate, even if I can’t make you scream, even if I have to  _ kill  _ you...it will  _ never  _ stop looking for you ‘til it finds you. Your Burnish will come for you. Whether you like it or not.”

Vulcan heaves Meis to his feet, slams him face-down into the table with a gloved hand fisted in his long black hair, eyes bulging as he laughs. “That Burnish couldn’t resist if it tried! We have its favorite bait, and that’d be  _ you!  _ So, c’mon, get mad! Get upset! Do whatever you want, just scream for your mate to come and save you!”

He tears Meis’ head back, then slams it face-first into the table. Meis yelps into the recorder that Vulcan is holding by his head. “S-Stop…,” he tries, weakly.

“I’ll stop,” Vulcan says, “when you give me what you want.”

* * *

It’s been two weeks since Galo hit what was very much  _ not  _ a dog.

It’s been two weeks since Galo met Lio, a Burnish refugee on the run from a facility who wanted to recapture him for use in their experiments to further the medicine available to the human race, after it was discovered that their breed could heal themselves alarmingly quickly and that their saliva had the ability to heal wounds to human skin within seconds. Entire bones could be mended within minutes, organs regenerated and entirely replaced within an hour. It would save countless human lives - at the cost of every Burnish one.

Lio was the last one, or so he believed. He escaped not very long ago and has been on the run ever since - which had, in some great twist of fate, somehow led him to Galo Thymos.

Galo likes Lio - monster or not. When he’s human, Lio is as petite as porcelain and looks just as fragile, but oh, how looks can be deceiving. Galo discovers early on that Lio is wickedly strong, in a way that’s almost otherworldly given his small size and tiny stature. He looks like a doll and hits like a truck, and it’s such a wonderful contradiction that Galo can’t help but be infatuated with it. Lio is also smart as a whip and clever as a fox, which makes it all the better that he doesn’t treat Galo like he’s stupid, at least not completely. Galo’s spent his entire life being the resident idiot, at home and at work, and Lio has since discovered that, despite his initial impression, Galo very much isn’t a fool. Galo likes that Lio doesn’t call him stupid, listens to him, respects his opinion. Lio likes that Galo is empathetic to a fault and so far from selfish that he paints all of humanity in a totally new light for him. Maybe not all humans are like Galo, but if even one Galo exists out there, then not all humans are bad, either.

When Lio is a monster, he’s something else entirely, fiercely strong and fiercely beautiful in his own unique fiery sense of the word. Galo still calls him a dog sometimes, jokingly, when Lio insists on slipping back into his true form to watch TV with him in the evening, elongated head rested in Galo’s lap with his very long legs trailing out behind him. Galo feeds him pizza and tacos and so much junk food that Lio is left to wonder how the man has survived for this long on such a poor diet and almost feels compelled to catch him something even slightly more nutritious, even if he himself has subsisted mostly on opossums and squirrels these past few years and the sudden change in caloric intake feels like a luxury he doesn’t deserve.

Being with  _ Galo  _ feels like a luxury he doesn’t deserve. The world is a dark place, this Lio knows and knows well. But Galo is a light. Galo is sunshine. Galo is warm and wonderful and brings life to every place he goes, places where Lio unfortunately can’t go with him, even though part of him wants to.

Part of him wants to follow Galo everywhere.

He’s always been a leader, from the time he was a roly-poly Burnish cub spitting up fireballs at his long-dead parents to the time when he rose to the head of the pack as a mere teenager. He only knows how to lead.

But, if there’s anyone in this world that Lio wants to follow, it’s Galo. To the ends of the earth, he would follow him. To the ends of the earth, he would love him.

* * *

Meis screams.

He screams and screams and screams, but Vulcan doesn’t stop banging his head against the table until he’s battered and bloody and probably limping from all the times he’s been kicked and punched and struck and tazed. Finally, when he tastes bile on his tongue over the sharp tang of copper and the tears run hot and wet down his cheeks, Vulcan drops him, letting him sink to his knees on the floor. He sneers down at him like he’s pathetic. And he is. He gave in. Vulcan holds in his hand a tape recorder full of his screams and the sounds of his anguish, and he’ll use it to lure Gueira right into his clutches. Meis has failed his partner.

“Aww, cheer up,” Vulcan taunts him, even now, tipping his chin up with one huge finger, Meis has never seen such an ungodly large man, “You’ll be back with your little mate soon, and I’m sure it’ll be  _ so _ happy to see you  _ one last time.” _

Reluctantly, Meis meets his gaze. It almost hurts to look at him, with the way the man’s eyes bulge out of his huge skull like a reptile’s, boring into him with their cruel stare. Vulcan is a man who clearly enjoys what he does, and the thought sends a shiver down Meis’ spine where he sprawls defeatedly on the floor. “W-What are ya gonna do with ‘im…?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty face,” Vulcan sneers down at him, “We won’t hurt ‘em. Foresight needs your precious Burnish for his research!”

“He’ll kill you,” Meis promises.

Vulcan laughs uproariously, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “I would like to see it try!”

* * *

When Lio is human, he’s petite, delicate, beautiful. Pale blonde hair, fine as silk, hangs around his face in tapering curtains, framing pretty fair features and bright violet eyes and a dainty little button nose that makes him look like a doll. It’s a far cry from his true form, which towers on lithe, black legs that glisten like polished machinery and bulge with hidden muscle when he springs and pounces like a leopard. Each breath sends a fire he can barely contain within his slender body shuddering along his prominent ribs, which are so defined by design and not by starvation or hunger, which has been less and less of a problem for him since meeting Galo Thymos. Sometimes, when he’s asleep, fire seethes between his jagged teeth, sparkling white and glowering with the faintest tint of green in the dark, and singes through the sheets on Galo’s bed or burns the fabric off his sofa, but Galo never seems to mind. Lio is confident that he could burn the entire apartment complex down and devour Galo’s left arm and the man would not only sympathize with him, but apologize to him. His empathy truly is otherworldly. Lio worries, privately, in the back of his mind, when he’s home alone while Galo works at the nearby fire department, that someone will take advantage of that. Galo is too kind a soul to ever be taken advantage of, and the mere thought makes the fire roil in Lio’s depths.

He’s asleep on the sofa when Galo comes home, stretched out with his legs twitching as he flees a shapeless figure in his nightmares. Smoke streams from his slit nostrils and comes hiccuping up from between his fangs as he gasps and sobs in his sleep, coughing up embers that catch on the carpet but don’t spread. Galo had the foresight long ago to saturate his carpet in fire retardant, never as much of a fool as he acts. 

Galo stands several feet away and whispers Lio’s name until the beast wakes, Lio’s head tearing up with fire already blazing behind a ready snarl. His eyeless gaze falls on Galo instead of the thing chasing him through his nightmares and he’s abruptly at ease, the flames dying on his tongues. 

Galo sits down and holds him. Lio can’t cry without eyes or tear ducts, but he still finds a way to sob, shuddering in Galo’s safe embrace as the firefighter holds him tight. Time passes. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Galo’s hold on him never softens, not until he wants it to.

“Lio?” Galo whispers against the side of his throat, where he rests a cheek that’s grown uncomfortably warmth with proximity to an open blaze, barely contained.

Lio rumbles in his ear.

“Who did this to you?” Galo asks softly, cautiously, as his fingers stroke along the fleshy vents that open up along the sides of Lio’s neck, flickering with the fire within, resembling a shark’s gills when they flutter with each steaming-hot breath.

“You do not want to know,” Lio says.

“I do,” Galo insists, fingers sliding up Lio’s throat as he leans back, to instead cradle his huge elongated head in both hands, pressing kisses to the tip of his snout, “I want to know who did this to you, Lio.”

“You do not,” Lio says again, “It will hurt you.”

“Nothing hurts me half as much as seeing you like this,” Galo says, smiling faintly with a distant sadness in his very blue eyes when Lio nuzzles his snout against his shoulder, “C’mon, Lio. Tell me. Tell me what happened to you.”

Lio settles back on his haunches, regarding Galo in that eyeless yet intense way of his. He doesn’t need eyes to peer straight through Galo’s burning firefighter’s soul, right into the depths of him to see his very core, all the things that make him  _ Galo.  _ All the things that Lio loves and admires. He shudders with a sigh, returning his snout to Galo’s shoulder, where he rests a head so heavy that only a man like Galo could ever hold it and not falter himself. 

“I would rather,” Lio says, cautiously, carefully, “tell you why I stayed.”

* * *

Meis is too weak to walk back to the cell. Vulcan carries him, dropping him back onto his bed without another word. Meis hits the mattress flat on his back, hard enough to knock the wind out of him one last time.

Thyma rushes over in an instant, her singular tongue splitting lengthwise into two as she rolls it along his many scrapes and bruises, but he’s so battered now that he barely feels it tingle. Several of his fingers are broken; Thyma tries her best to set them in the proper position before she licks them, prompting the healing process to begin. Fortunately, she’s fairly good at it after years of carefully watching Heris from afar.

“What happened?” Thyma asks, urgent and hushed.

Meis only whines in response. He doesn’t have to answer; Thyma already knows.

* * *

“Galo Thymos,” Lio says in a garbled hushed snarl, “I am in love with you.”

Galo reels back in surprise. For a moment, Lio almost expects disgust, but in the back of his mind, he knows that Galo isn’t like that. So, it’s no surprise to him when Galo’s face splits wide around a goofy grin, his arms around Lio’s neck in an instant as he laughs in unadulterated joy, squeezing tight.

“I love you, too, Lio,” he says, half-laugh, half-sob, “I love you.”

Lio is a little  _ more  _ surprised when Galo leans back and cups the side of his toothy pointed snout in one palm, then kisses him right on his open maw. Galo has been nothing but accepting of him the entire time he’s been here, but part of him still expected Galo to want him to be human for this. Yet again, he’s underestimated his firefighter.

Slowly, three tongues emerge from between glinting white teeth, bright green and glowering faintly in the low lights of the living room, lapping sweetly along Galo’s plump kissable lips until they part and grant him entry. Lio’s tongues press into Galo’s mouth, mapping out his shape, his smell, his flavor. Galo is delicious, and Lio wants to devour him.

Galo comes away from the kiss with sticky-wet saliva dripping warmly down his chin, lips red and bruised, bare chest rising and falling a little more quickly than usual. “Fuck me,” he whispers, and Lio doesn’t have to be told twice.

“Take your pants off,” Lio rumbles in Galo’s ear, as one of his three tongues rolls over its lobe while another trails sweetly along its rim, “Or I’ll take them off for you.”

Galo is already panting underneath him. “Do it. I don’t even like these pants.”

A clawed forelimb somewhere between a paw and a hand trails a tentative digit along Galo’s already bulging zipper. “Are you sure?” Lio asks. Galo nods and, in one swift motion, the trousers are split along the seam and Lio is tugging them off of each ankle with his teeth, three tongues rolling eagerly over the growing erection below, now separated from his wet, slick heat by only the thin material of Galo’s underwear. Frankly, Lio is surprised he wears them at all, his teeth tenderly working the waistband down, forever mindful of the soft skin underneath.

“Just rip ‘em off,” Galo encourages him. Lio is more than happy to oblige him, tearing his boxers off the rest of the way with a simple twist of his head. He drops the shredded remnants in the floor, then laves his three tongues along Galo’s growing length, lapping sweetly until drool is pooling underneath the man, slickening his cock. 

“There’s something you should know, kitten,” Lio rumbles as he lifts his head from Galo’s crotch to instead lap sweetly at the junction of his shoulder and throat. Galo shudders at the pet name, sweat beading on his forehead already. “Burnish mate for life. Once you are mine, you are mine forever, Galo Thymos. Can you agree to that?”

“Yes,” Galo says without hesitation, “I love you. I’m yours. Forever. I swear it.”

“Good,” Lio says, satisfied, then gently pushes Galo backwards to roll one of those flexible, hot tongues around his rim. Galo grips the sofa cushions, slightly singed from Lio’s days of laying on them, until his knuckles turn white with friction, that tongue gradually working its way into his warm core. Lio’s saliva is searingly hot, but Galo has always been able to take the heat.

_ “Lio,”  _ he whispers urgently into the dimly lit living room, “Lio, Lio, Lio…”

Lio has two entire tongues hilted in him now, scissoring apart to make room for a third. Galo keens, rocking his hips gently into Lio’s slobbering maw, hands gripping gently at two of his horns. He thinks he must be the luckiest man in the world, right then. Not everyone’s boyfriend is a giant fire-breathing monster with spit-lube and built-in handholds (and not everyone’s boyfriend is the sweet, passionate, fiery, awe-inspiring Lio, but that’s another feeling altogether, one that’s hard to think about with three hot, wet monster tongues buried in his ass). 

“Lio,” Galo gasps sharply, “Lio, I love you. Fuck me. Please.”

Lio comes away from him with an almost comically wet sound, a thick tendril of saliva still connecting them until he breaks it with a swipe of his tongues along his toothy lips. He’s grinning, the way he always appears to be, but Galo can tell that, for once, Lio is actually smiling at him, that omnipresent snarl of a smirk curling up a little higher than usual. If he squints, he thinks he even sees a little shiver of delight run down that long slender spine, terminating in a sleek black tail that never wags, not even a twitch. His snout presses into Galo’s cheek, gently lapping at the skin there til it’s sticky with his saliva. “Anything for you, kitten,” he purrs in Galo’s ear, and a lesser man would have come undone right then.

Lio’s cock is nearly as long as Galo’s forearm, but slender, tapering sharply into an arrow-shaped tip, underlined with ridges that stimulate him oh-so-sweetly when Lio grinds it against his waiting hole, lining them up. Galo is on his back on the sofa, propped up on pillows, fingers gripping helplessly at the couch cushions as Lio rears back and then thrusts into him, slipping in with careful ease, driving straight into Galo’s prostate. Galo moans, reaching for Lio, and the beast’s huge head lowers to his face to lap between his parted lips while his clawed hands reach for Galo’s. Fingers twine with webbed monster toes, and Lio starts to thrust. 

“Does it feel good, kitten?” Lio asks.

Galo moans, forgets to speak, realizes he should answer. “Y-Yeah, it feels...feels so good, Lio…,” he pants softly, while Lio gently dries the sweat off his forehead with one tongue. The taste of his mate is salty-sweet. 

Galo’s own cock bobs helplessly between them, smearing his toned stomach with pre, the cock flushed an angry red with arousal. One of Lio’s tongues weaves impossibly low to wrap around it, lapping and twirling and teasing its searing-hot tip through the slit in time with his thrusts. Galo tips his head back and moans, and the other two tongues attack the tender underside of his throat when he exposes it, littering it with little hickeys and rising bruises. Something hot and hard starts to bump against Galo’s rim with every thrust, but he doesn’t question it, just accepts it. Whatever Lio offers him, he’ll happily take it.

“I’m going to knot you now, kitten,” Lio says, his thrusts growing slower, harder, “Are you ready? I’m afraid it’s quite big. Can the great Galo Thymos handle it?”

Galo grunts, grinning up at him as he reaches for his snout and tugs him down for an open-mouthed kiss against those tongues. “You know it. Fuck me.”

Lio thrusts hard and something stretches Galo impossibly, wonderfully, deliciously wide. Galo comes so hard that his vision flashes white and he thinks he might have screamed (the upstairs neighbors must be getting really concerned at this point). When he remembers how to think again, he’s dimly aware that Lio is grunting, thrusting shallowly into him as spurt after spurt of impossibly hot come fills him. It sits hot and heavy in Galo’s depths, making him pant and sigh and scratch happily at the sides of Lio’s face in delight when the monster finally stops thrusting and holds still enough for Galo to just hold him.

Galo glances up at him sheepishly, while Lio purrs in his ear like an incredibly overgrown housecat. “Was it...any good?”

“It was better than good, kitten,” Lio reassures him, lapping at his cheek, “Don’t worry. Did you enjoy it?”

Galo nods, smiling faintly as he squeezes Lio close. There’s smoke streaming from the corners of his maw. Galo is yet again glad that Lio destroyed the smoke detector on his first night here.

* * *

Meis thinks it’s some time in the evening. Thyma has cleaned his wounds as well as she can, jumpstarting the healing process, but he still aches all over. He lays on his back in bed and stares aimlessly up at the ceiling and feels numb. Heris doesn’t come to check on him this time, leaving him to nurse his wounds on his own. He’s lucky that Thyma is here.

The Burnish in question hasn’t left his bedside, her head rested beside him as he tries and fails to sleep. She isn’t asleep either, her eyeless gaze always warily watching the door.

“Won’t take you again,” Thyma tells him when footsteps draw nearer and he tenses, before eventually passing them by, “Won’t let them.”

“Don’t get yourself in trouble for me, Thyma,” Meis says, scratching underneath her chin. Her presence is reassuring. It reminds him of Gueira, but smaller, softer. He wonders where Gueira is now, if he’s safe, if he’s worried. Of course he’s worried. He wants to believe that Gueira is far away from here, where we won’t hear Meis’ recorded cries when Colonel Vulcan plays them on the loudspeakers outside tomorrow morning, but part of him instinctively knows that isn’t true. Gueira almost definitely knows exactly where he is, probably followed the truck straight here in the treeline. Hide-and-seek had been among their many silly childish pastimes back at the farm, and Meis had long sworn that Gueira could track him right into the middle of the ocean if he somehow ended up there after the beast found him up a tree deep in the woods during one particularly long and silly session. It was a game that Meis was doomed to never win, but still enjoyed playing. He enjoyed doing nearly everything if Gueira was involved.

“Don’t want them to hurt you,” Thyma whines.

“I know,” Meis says, “But I don’t want them to hurt you, neither.”

Thyma quietens. Meis thinks she must be thinking about something as he drifts to sleep with his hand still underneath her chin.

* * *

“Lio,” Galo says into the darkness of his bedroom that night, with Lio, now a silky-haired blonde with piercing purple eyes, curled against him beneath a single sheet (and even that seems too hot with Lio tucked in beside him), “Who are you running from? Tell me. Please.”

“Galo,” Lio warns him quietly, “You won’t like what you hear.”

“I want to know,” Galo insists.

Lio sighs. “I’m running from the facility that fronted the Burnish experimentation efforts, after our discovery and capture. Most of the Burnish housed there were killed in a massacre. I have no reason to believe that I wasn’t the only survivor, and I only escaped because the guards thought I was dead.” 

“I already know that,” Galo says impatiently, “Where  _ is  _ this facility? What’s it called? Who’s in charge? I want to know, and I want to put a  _ stop  _ to it.”

Lio chuckles, bemused. “Oh, kitten, I had a feeling you would say that. But…” His smile fades into his usual stern countenance, his gaze drifting away from Galo’s. “If I tell you, you’re going to hate me. It’s going to hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” Galo insists, “I could never hate you.”

Sighing, Lio meets his eye. Looks away, looks back, looks away again. Then, in a voice that’s little more than a whisper, with none of his usual sureness, he says, “I’m running from the man called Kray Foresight.”

Galo freezes, stiffens. Lio feels his fingers tighten in the fabric of the nightshirt Galo bought him. Ah, here it comes. It’s exactly as he knew it would be: Galo won’t believe him, won’t trust him, might hate him, might…

Galo is on his feet in an instant, grabbing keys, cellphone, and jacket.

“Where are you going?” Lio asks, slightly alarmed.

“I’m going,” Galo says, with a fierce look in his very blue eyes, “to stop Kray Foresight.”

* * *

Morning comes. Meis is so sore, he can barely stand, but he forces himself upright when Vulcan tears him out of bed and walks him out into the hall, marching him towards a nondescript stainless steel door with an exit sign glowering red above it. After his time inside, the outdoors feel almost too bright when the door opens, sunlight streaming into Meis’ one remaining eye and making him wince. He’s marched out into the middle of what looks like an empty prison yard, all sun-scorched dead grass and dusty orange soil marked on with chipped white paint that no longer reads clearly but might have said something at one point. A fence towards around the yard on three sides, thick iron bars crackling with electricity, with chicken wire coiling around its upper edge. The fourth side houses the building they emerged out of, nondescript and concrete. There’s no signage and no landmarks around for as far as the eye can see, not even a single solitary tree. Wherever they are, it’s the middle of nowhere. Help has never felt so far from his reach.

There’s a telephone pole with no electric lines attached in the middle of the prison yard, which is where Vulcan brings Meis, wrenching his very sore arms behind his back and cuffing his wrists together around it. Meis grunts in pain and Vulcan spits at him, just for fun. “Here we are,” the colonel says in his snarl of a voice, “Let’s see if we can’t arrange a little reunion between you and your  _ dearly beloved  _ now, shall we? Thought you might like a front-row seat to the show.”

“Fuck you,” Meis hisses hoarsely, but Vulcan leaves him without another word.

A moment later, a speaker attached to the telephone pole, high above Meis’ head, nearly blows his eardrums out with the sounds of his own screams.

* * *

Foresight Pharmaceuticals is abandoned when Galo arrives, but he has a key to his foster father’s office and lets himself in, sitting pointedly in the empty chair across from the sprawling mahogany desk, stacked high with paperwork. Monogrammed company pens sit neatly in the  _ World’s #1 Dad  _ mug Galo had given him for Father’s Day as a small child. Just hours ago, he would have been touched that Kray had kept it all this time. Now, he doesn’t know what to think.

6AM sharp. Kray walks into his office, hangs up his jacket, and turns to find Galo sitting there.

“Ah, good morning,” Kray says, a well-built wall of a man with neatly groomed blonde hair and a clean-shaven face and eyes that always seem to smile so brightly that they’re seemingly permanently squeezed closed, “What brings you here, Galo? It’s a little early even for you.” He steps over to his Keurig, which has its own table by the window, complete with an assortment of K-cups in every imaginable flavor. “Coffee?”

Galo cuts right to the chase, “I know about the Burnish.”

* * *

Meis knows that Gueira is here when he realizes that the fence is on fire. Flames disintegrate even the strongest metal, blazing blood-red as they eat away at the iron, sending up streams of sparks as the electric fence shorts out. He wonders for a moment why he can’t see Gueira, when he realizes that the Burnish is very much already inside. Guards start to shout. Vulcan belows orders that are drowned out with the most unnervingly, earth-shakingly  _ furious  _ roar Meis has ever heard out of anything.

After spending three days in this hellhole of a facility, being starved and tortured and kicked and bruised, with one eye gored clean out at Vulcan’s hands, there’s something strangely cathartic of watching Gueira rear back on his hindlimbs, then come down on all fours hard with his tail, wreathed in blood-red flames, curled over his back as his gaping jaws part around a pillar of fire that torches some of those cruel men alive. It’s morbidly fascinating, almost, and Meis can’t tear his one eye away as he watches it unravel. Maybe justice exists in this world, after all. 

There’s one brief moment where Meis has hope and believes that maybe, just maybe, Gueira is too great a force for any human man to ever contend with. Fire as red as blood scorches the prison yard to ash, entire corpses disintegrated into dust, punctuated by the occasional sickening crunch when Gueira stops shooting fire long enough to get his jaws around somebody.

And then the shots start to fire. He hears Gueira wail in pain, sees his huge black tail lift high over his head and then bodily whip the first gunsman out of his way, sending the man soaring. He hits the ground nearby hard enough to break his back, and Meis hopes he does, just for working here. The second gunsman doesn’t fare much better, Gueira rearing up on his hindlimbs and coming down on him with both hands, crushing the shrieking guard beneath his weight. The third, Gueira meets halfway across the courtyard with an eruption of fire, so fast that the man doesn’t even have time to scream. The gun in his hands disintegrates with him.

The gunshots stop, for now. Gueira swivels his head around, sniffing frantically, until his eyeless gaze reaches Meis. He rushes over to him, jaws clamping around the little chain between his handcuffs and cleaving it easily in two, freeing him. Meis throws his arms around the beast’s neck and suddenly realizes that he’s sobbing, tears tracking down one side of his face from only one eye now. Gueira hugs him with his head, rumbling with a purr, then leans back and sees Meis’ face clearly for the first time.

A hot breath from Gueira sends Meis’ greasy unwashed hair flying away from his face, where his right eye socket sits empty, sealed with hastily done stitches. The other eye is black from the day before, swollen and puffy and painful. There’s still dried blood around one nostril. 

Blackness slowly seeps along the length of Gueira’s fangs, bright green disappearing beneath a veil of obsidian that keeps spreading along his bright red jaw, until his entire head is pitch-black, save for his glowering red horns. “Who did this?” Gueira demands in a rumbling snarl that would have made anyone but Meis tremble where they stood.

Meis takes oh-so-much satisfaction in hugging his beloved’s head, sniffling pitifully, and telling him, “Colonel Vulcan.”

* * *

The car ride from Foresight Pharmaceuticals to the nameless research facility is silent, tense. Smooth freshly paved roads gradually turn to uneven gravel, which flies up and dings against the side of the huge truck that’s supposed to be bringing them there, and then to dust as the roads vanish altogether and the familiar buildings and skyscrapers of the city turn into nothing but neverending desert on all sides. An occasional cactus passes by the dark tinted windows, but nothing more.

It’s almost two hours before the driver starts to talk into a handheld radio, a looming electric fence glowering on the horizon. Galo’s eyes widen as a gate flanked on each side by three guards slides aside, granting them entry.

The truck comes to a halt. The driver steps outside and opens the back door for them. Kray steps out before Galo, accepting a name badge from the driver when it’s offered. He hands one to Galo, too, with a quickly-snapped photo they had taken before they left printed on it, alongside his first and late name and a shiny new ID number.

Outside, the facility is a nondescript concrete block building, one story, with an electric fence towering around it, crackling loudly in the midday heat. Inside, however, it has the look of an advanced medical facility, equipped with the state-of-the-art, nearly-science-fiction equipment that Galo has come to expect of Kray’s people. People dressed in stark white labcoats and dress slacks wander between stations, a secretary smiling at them with pearly white teeth as they pass her by on their way down the hallway. The lights are glaringly fluorescent, reflecting off of freshly polished tiles and stark white walls, making the entire place seem too bright. It almost hurts Galo’s eyes, making him squint as he follows Kray to the elevator. The door slides closed behind them. Kray presses a button labeled T for terrace, and the elevator starts to sink to a basement level that the building didn’t appear to have from the outside.

“This ground floor is where we keep the anomalies,” Kray says, like he’s giving an educational tour of his research facility, gesturing to a suddenly dark hallway when the elevator door opens with a ding, “It’s perfect for dampening the effects of their flames, and hardly anything down here is flammable.”

Galo shivers when he steps out of the elevator, skin suddenly prickling with cold. It feels like he’s stepped into a freezer, the mostly unlit hallway flickering ominously with only a few scattered lightbulbs hanging from the unpainted concrete ceiling on wires. “It’s cold,” he comments, more to fill the silence between them than anything.

“Yes,” Kray says, arms crossed behind his muscular wall of a back as he leads Galo down the hall. It’s lined on either side with doors, spaced around twelve feet apart, each frame surrounded by a tight black seal like that on a refrigerator. “The dark and cold dampen the Burnish ability to ignite fire. This prevents them from injuring our staff while they’re being fed and watered, or when the doctors come to retrieve them for their research - which is all very humane, let me assure you. I like to think that we treat the anomalies very well here.”

Kray stops in front of a sealed door. He scans his keycard and Galo hears it unseal, slowly opening with a rush of icy-cold air. He shivers.

Inside, a small concrete cell stares back at them. There’s no bed. No food. No water. No light or windows, except for a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. No entertainment or enrichment. It’s entirely empty, except for a few scattered shreds of newspaper and a drain in the middle of the floor. 

Galo’s stomach twists. He can’t bite back the anger in his throat. “You call  _ this  _ humane? You think they’re being treated  _ well  _ here? This is a cage! A prison cell!”

“Galo,” Kray says in the same sharp tone he used to scold Galo for behaving badly throughout his childhood, “Why do you care.”

“Because they’re  _ people!”  _ Galo shouts. His voice echoes hollowly off the concrete walls.

Something in the cell growls, long and low.

“Oh?” Kray raises a well-manicured blonde brow, then lifts a hand to pointedly trail his fingers along the crescent moon of already-healed teeth marks on Galo’s shoulder. He frowns, a terrifying sight. “Is that all?”

Galo swallows hard. He’s never been good at concealing his emotions, something Kray has long criticized him for. “They’re people, Kray. How could you do  _ this?  _ Don’t you want to help  _ people?” _

“I  _ am  _ helping people!” Kray roars as he slams a gloved fist into the concrete wall beside the cell door, the lights flickering from the impact, “Those  _ Burnish  _ are nothing but mindless, slobbering monsters who want to burn the whole world to the ground! But their bodies are filled to the  _ brim  _ with a compound that we can synthesize to heal  _ any  _ injury in a matter of  _ hours.  _ They can mend broken bones in  _ minutes _ , Galo! Regenerate entire organs within a few hours! They’re the ultimate stem cell, and my  _ people  _ are going to be the ones who reap the benefits from it!”

“But...the Burnish…”

“Who  _ cares  _ about the Burnish?” Kray snorts, one piercing red eye cracking open a sliver to pierce Galo with a glare, “The medicine we’re manufacturing here could have saved your  _ mother _ , Galo, if one of those damned  _ Burnish  _ aren’t burnt her body to ash in the first place!”

Galo looks at him, hard. “No. It was a housefire.”

“How would you know?” Kray remarks, “You were only a child. You hardly even remember it. I know for a  _ fact _ that it was a Burnish, because it was that damned runaway who escaped this very facility twenty years ago, the very same day that your family’s home burned to the ground with your parents inside it! He was a strong Burnish, too. We could’ve done a lot of good with him here. Now, what was his name again…? Oh, yes. I think it must have been  _ Lio.” _

Galo’s eyes widen. “No!”

“Oh, what’s the matter, Galo? You wouldn’t happen to  _ know  _ of Lio, would you?” Kray taunts him, in the same moment that the something in the cell snarls again. Galo sees bright cyan blue teeth snarling at them through the semi-darkness, an elongated black head emerging from the shadows. “You think these Burnish are worth sparing, Galo? Let’s see if it spares you!”

The Burnish sinks into the corner of its cell with a snarl as the horizontal iron bars between her and them retract into the wall and Kray shoves Galo inside. Galo hits the concrete floor on his hands and knees, gasping sharply as the door seals fast behind him.

A shadow falls over him.

The Burnish growls.

* * *

“You walk, beloved?” Gueira rumbles in his broken manner of speech, his huge head gently nudging Meis to his feet, in stark contrast to the way it had thrown grown men aside and blasted others to their fiery deaths just minutes prior, “We go now.”

Meis nods, panting breathlessly and hiccuping with a sob. He’s so relieved to see Gueira again that he can’t help but cry, or maybe it’s because the pain settling into his joints and limbs is finally hitting him full-force. No, no, not now. Just a little longer, then he can curl up against Gueira’s flank and fall asleep for awhile. “O-Okay…”

“Stay close,” Gueira warns, then turns faster than a creature his size should be able to, to face a fresh onslaught of guards toting freezing weapons, already primed to fire. His maw stretches wide around a roar, sending embers flickering, and then a wall of fire is rising around them on all sides. His teeth bleed back to obsidian-black, the inky blackness spreading over the parts of his body that are ordinarily red until only his horns and claws remain, fiery crimson against the stark black of his body as he starts to spurt blazing black flames. The wall of fire around them bleeds into blackness, too, and the next time Gueira roars, it nearly splits Meis’ eardrums in half. 

“W-What’s going on?” Meis asks, but Gueira doesn’t answer him, ebony spines rising from his back like pillars and sprouting from his tail, until the end of it resembles a swollen black club. He swings it with deadly precision, cutting through the wall of flames and sending guards flying to their deaths with another furious bellow. Bullets made of ice hit the wall and disintegrate into smoldering-hot flame, so hot that, even at a distance, Meis is sweating, clothing sticking tight to his skin, and he thinks he might be sunburnt.

A single bullet manages to pierce the veil of fire where it’s weakest, striking Gueira in the shoulder, where it spreads outwards in a spiderweb of white before Gueira’s flames burn it to ashes. Gueira roars, his huge head splitting the wall of fire as he lunges through it and jerks the guard who shot him up by their gun, shaking them viciously from side-to-side before he hurls them backwards, over his shoulder and into the flames to meet their untimely demise.

Darkly, Meis realizes that he’s enjoying this. These were the men who massacred Gueira’s entire family twenty years ago, it’s vengeance well-earned after all this time. He forgets, for a moment, that they’re even in danger, because this battle is wholly one-sided, with Gueira snatching guards up and impaling them on razor-fangs or scorching them alive like squealing little marshmallows.

Then, there’s an ear-splitting shot and a cannonball tears through Gueira’s wall of fire and strikes him square in the shoulder, sending him stumbling sideways and crumbling to his stomach in the dust, flames dissipating in a cloud of smoke. He’s back on his feet in an instant, his huge head lowering protectively in front of Meis as Colonel Vulcan approaches, some sort of huge gun steadied haphazardly on his shoulder. He’s alone.

Vulcan snickers darkly and readies his weapon. “There you are.”

* * *

Galo creeps backwards on his hands and knees. The Burnish doesn’t follow him. Instead, it retreats to the corner where it had been before he and Kray disturbed it.

“A-Another Burnish,” Galo stammers out, “There  _ are  _ still others. A-Are you okay?”

The slender head turns towards him and Galo senses it staring at the name badge dangling around his neck on a Foresight Pharmaceuticals lanyard. It snarls. “One of Foresight’s people…”

“N-No, I’m not!”

Galo cuts off in a scream as fire surges out from between those snarling cyan teeth. He throws his left arm up to guard his face and it catches the worst of the flames, until he falls down on his stomach and rolls until they’re extinguished, yelping all the while. He stops only when the acrid stench of his own burning flesh hits his stomach and makes him too nauseous to continue, laying limply on the floor with a pathetic whine. He’s surprised at how little it hurts after the initial shock wears off, until he realizes that it’s burnt clean through the dermis and into the fatty tissue below, his skin hanging off his arm in leathery white sheets. He feels sick to his stomach, but not angry. The only thing he feels, in fact, is a sharp pang of empathy.

“You...must be so scared,” Galo whispers.

“Burn you again!” the Burnish threatens. It speaks clearly, but not as eloquently as Lio.

“Don’t,” Galo says softly, “I’m a friend. I promise. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Humans bad!” it barks.

Galo chuckles and shakes his head sadly, cradling his burnt arm to his chest as he slides up against the opposite wall and leans his head back into it. The concrete is cold, sobering. “I can see why you must think that. What’s your name?”

The Burnish pauses. He hears it shuffling around in its corner, then its voice comes again from the shadows, closer than before, “No one ever asks.”

“I’m asking,” Galo says, “My name’s Galo. Galo Thymos!” 

The Burnish hesitates, then says softly, “Thyma.”

“Thyma,” Galo repeats, smiling in that beaming sunshine way of his, “That’s a pretty name. Have you been here a long time?”

“All my life,” Thyma says. She moves closer. The dusky light from the cell’s single bulb flashes across her for a brief moment and Galo sees that her body is almost entirely encased in bandages and gauze, some of it soaked through with slick black blood like Lio’s.

Galo frowns. “I’m so sorry…” He sighs, sinking further back into the wall. “If I had known this was going on all along, maybe I could have stopped it. Maybe...I still can.”

He can hear Thyma’s footsteps coming closer - slowly and tentatively, the way a frightened animal approaches when curiosity wins over fear, but only just barely - and then she’s suddenly right beside him, stretching her long slender neck out as far as she can to sniff at him. “You smell like a Burnish…,” she says softly.

“Because I know a Burnish,” Galo says, “Well, two Burnish now. I’m his mate. His name’s Lio!”

Thyma reels backwards and, for a moment, Galo thinks his change in pitch must have startled her, until her head wheels back around towards him from where she crouches. “L-Lio is dead! Saw him die! Whitecoats killed him!”

“No, Thyma,” Galo says quietly, carefully, so as not to startle her again, “Lio is  _ alive.  _ He’s with him. He’s safe. And I know...I know that he wouldn’t want to see you trapped here like this, either. He wouldn’t want this, not for any of the Burnish. I’m going to get outta here, Thyma. And I’m going to tell Lio that you’re still here. I’m gonna get you out of here. Are there any others here, too?”

Thyma shakes her head. “No, only me. Lio really alive?”

“Lio is really alive,” Galo repeats, “I promise, I wouldn’t lie to you. And I promise...that we’ll get you outta here, Thyma. This is no place for you.”

Thyma creeps closer to him again. A long tongue lolls from between her fangs, then splits lengthwise into two, wrapping around his wrist as she starts to lick his burn. “I’m...sorry.”

“You were scared,” Galo says, “Don’t worry about it. You have no reason to trust me after everything you’ve been through.”

“How will you escape?” Thyma asks quietly, conspiratorially, while her saliva rolls over the burn. The skin starts to mesh back together, regrowing before his very eyes. His eyes widen; not even Lio could heal himself this quickly.

“I...I’ll think of something,” Galo answers hurriedly. He doesn’t want her to lose hope. He looks around urgently, spots a vent in the far wall. “Ah, there!”

“Oh, that?” Thyma prompts, tilting her head questioningly, “Will you fit?”

“I hope so,” Galo laughs with a grin. Thyma’s tail flickers up to his lips to silence him, footsteps passing by them. After several minutes, the footsteps retreat back towards the elevator and she removes her tail-tip, letting him speak again. “Who was that?”

“Guards,” Thyma hisses, “Not now. Escape tonight, while guards gone. I’ll help.”

“There’s no night shift here?” Galo asks, privately surprised. It isn’t like Kray to leave anything so unaccounted for.

Thyma shakes her head, then resumes lapping at his wound apologetically. It’s already nearly healed now, leaving only dusky dark scars behind on his tan skin. “I’m not big enough threat to warrant night guard.”

“Why?” Galo asks, “You seem plenty strong. Definitely tougher than me!”

“Because,” Thyma says remorsefully and something about her tone sounds guilty, “I’m tame.”

* * *

Vulcan fires another cannonball, but this time, Gueira is ready for it, meeting it halfway with a geyser of obsidian-black fire that incinerates it midair. Smoke billows from his nostrils and the corners of his maw now, streaming up from the vents behind is shoulders. His clubbed tail is swinging to and fro behind him, preparing to strike should Vulcan be foolish enough to come within range. He doesn’t.

“C’mon, Burnish scum!” Vulcan taunts him, “Come and get me!”

“How dare you!” Gueira roars and his voice itself sounds like the roar of an inferno now, “How dare you lay a single finger on him!”

“That’s right, beastie,” Vulcan growls, “I was the one who hurt your precious little mate! He’s a real pretty one, too, maybe I should have just taken him for myself!” 

Gueira roars at him, but doesn’t take the bait. Vulcan is ready for him. He has to plan his next move carefully - and quickly. It won’t be long before reinforcements arrive, if they haven’t already.

“You’re no fun,” Vulcan gripes like this is little more than a minor inconvenience, then unexpectedly readies his cannon on his shoulder, finger moving for the trigger, “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” 

He suddenly spins the cannon away from Gueira and in Meis’ direction, then squeezes the trigger. Gueira is there in an instant, between Meis and a projectile of ice the size of a bowling ball that most certainly would have killed him at that speed, going down with a yelp as it strikes him in the shoulder, bones audibly shattering. 

“Gueira!” Meis yelps as he rushes to his side. The Burnish is already trying to get up, but his right forelimb is broken, dragging along underneath him when he tries to walk. His flames surge over it, beginning to mend it, but they’re not working nearly quickly enough. There are more guards coming towards them now, and Vulcan is preparing his cannon for another blast.

Gueira forces himself to stand, limping. “Get on,” he rumbles, Meis scrambling onto his shoulders as he starts to run on three legs. It’s awkward, and a creature his size is far from suited for speed, but they’re at the fence before the guards can get ahead and cut them off, Gueira’s club tail swinging anyone who gets in his way aside like toys.

Gueira ducks through the hole he burned through the iron fence, Meis ducking with him to avoid singing his hair off. Somewhere, a truck is cranking and he knows they’re being followed. “Gueira!” he shouts over the sound of the wind and the crackle of Gueira’s fire, “Gueira, stop! There’s another Burnish still inside, we’ve gotta -!”

“Gotta go!” Gueira bellows back at him. A gun fires somewhere behind them and they both duck, Meis flattening himself between Gueira’s shoulder blades. “Come back later!”

As Gueira weaves and wobbles on three legs to avoid ice bullets, Meis squeezes his arms tighter around his huge black neck and thinks to himself that he never, ever wants to see that dreaded place again.

* * *

Thyma passes the time between morning and nightfall with terrifying stories about the facility that turn Galo’s stomach to a mess of nerves and acid, stories about how the Burnish were first captured and brought here when she was only a cub, how she was separated from her mother at a young age and moved to the lab, how she was injected with chemicals every few hours to increase her saliva production and improve its quality, until she produced the perfect compound to heal wounds, sealing them within seconds. She doesn’t remember what it means to be free and she doesn’t know how to survive outside the compound. No one’s ever taught her how to hunt or avoid detection or have fun. This is all she’s ever known, and the thought makes Galo heartstick.

Nightfall comes. Thyma listens carefully for the guards and, when she decides it’s safe, incinerates the flimsy metal cover over the room’s single vent. It turns to liquid beneath the heat of her flames and melts clean off its bolts, dripping to the floor. It’s an escape route she’s considered many times, but even at her smallest and most underweight, she wouldn’t fit through it, not nearly. 

“Thanks, Thyma,” Galo says, stripping out of his pants as they agreed. Thyma takes them in her maw and gives her head a few sideways shakes, shredding them to threads that scatter to the floor in disarray. 

“Now, the blood,” Thyma says and Galo peels away some of the gauge on her forearm, where the flesh is tacky with barely-dried blood from so many tiny injection wounds that he can’t count them. She slides a claw along them and the blood starts to flow, dripping down on the concrete. She lifts he arm and smears it over her teeth, slinging some against the walls in sickly splatters for good measure. Her blood is black and his is red, but in the dim light of the cell, no one will be able to tell the difference, and only Heris is brave enough to come directly into the cell with her these days, except on the rare occasions that she misbehaves badly enough for Vulcan to pay her a visit. 

“Are you sure you can’t come?” Galo asks, brows furrowed in worry, “I’ll let you bite me. Really, it’s no problem, it’s the least -”

“Won’t work,” Thyma laments sadly, nuzzling his shoulder, “Not for me.”

“What? Why not?”

“Something the whitecoats did to me,” Thyma says, “No time to explain. You need to go.”

“I’ll come back for you, Thyma,” Galo swears, stroking along her snout soothingly, “I promise. Me and Lio. You’ll see. And in the meantime...just hang in there, okay? As soon as this is over, we’ll find somewhere nice for you to live, where you can finally be free. We’ll get you pizza!”

Thyma wants to ask what that is, but remembers that there’s a mission at hand and gives him a gentle nudge instead. Galo strokes her farewell, then crawls into the vent shaft and vanishes without another word. It’s dark inside, but Galo doesn’t have to go far before he’s prying a ceiling tile up and peering down at a concrete floor below, dropping down into the hallway outside Thyma’s cell. His badge still works on the elevator, and on the store room where the spare company keys are kept, and on the front door. He cranks his truck of choice and drives off into the desert, the facility disappearing into the distance behind him as he peers back at it sadly with a whisper of, “Hang in there, Thyma. Help is on the way.”

* * *

Gueira runs until the din of the truck engine fades into the distance behind him and his last three legs are threatening to give out underneath him. The bone in his broken limb has already started to mend, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. He needs to rest - and so does Meis.

Meis holds onto Gueira tightly as the Burnish creeps down into a gully, growling at a pair of javelina until they grunt and scatter. There’s not much water to be found out here beyond an occasional dirty puddle, which Gueira promptly stops to drink from. Meis slides off his shoulders and cups his hands, bringing the murky water to his lips to drink, too. “Gross,” he mutters under his breath, but he has no reason to complain, not right now, when they’re just lucky to have escaped alive.

A great gaping crack that splits the canyon wall beneath the stars is just wide enough for Gueira to squeeze into and lie down. It’s a far cry from the queen-size mattresses and thousand-thread-count silk sheets Meis has grown up sleeping on, but right now, it feels like the most luxurious thing in the world to just lay down in the dirt and close his eyes and try to sleep. Maybe tonight, he’ll finally be able to, because Gueira is here with him again and his heart can finally feel whole where it’s been achingly empty for the last two nights.

One of Gueira’s tongues rolls over his swollen black eye gently. “Hurt,” he rumbles softly, but it sounds so much louder in the tight confines of the cavern where they lay, Gueira’s huge body curled around Meis’ much smaller one. 

“I’ll be fine,” Meis reassures him, reaching gently for his head to hug it. Gueira’s tongues swathe tenderly along his forearms, over cuts and bruises and little sore spots that make him wince. Gueira doesn’t stop until he’s gone down the length of one arm and back up the other, right up to the empty socket stitched closed where Meis’ right eye used to be.

He shakes with a furious snarl. Meis is close enough to hear the fire within him start to crackle. “Make them pay,” he promises, and Meis wholeheartedly believes him.

“You bet your ass we’re gonna make ‘em pay,” Meis agrees, “We’re gonna burn that hellhole to the fuckin’ ground, and then I’m gonna piss on its fuckin’ ashes. But first...we’ve gotta get Thyma out. She ain’t deserve none o’ that shit.”

Gueira’s head stills. “Thyma…?”

“That’s right, love,” Meis hums, stroking gingerly along Gueira’s snout as he lays against him, completely exhausted and yet reeling too hard from the afternoon’s events to sleep, “There was a Burnish in there. Alive.”

“Thyma’s alive…,” Gueira rumbles thoughtfully, “Others?”

“‘Fraid not,” Meis says, “Thyma says she’s been the only one ‘round for years now. They’re usin’ her for some sorta medical research. She can heal wounds real fast or somethin’. It’s some bullshit, honestly. But…”

Gueira tilts his head to one side. “But?”

“Thyma told me somethin’ else that I think you’ll be real happy to hear, love,” Meis says, pressing a tiny kiss to the very tip of Gueira’s pointed snout. The beast tilts his head the other way, imploring him to say more, and Meis almost laughs, half in bemusement and half in relief that  _ fuck _ , they’re still alive, they’re still breathing, they’re still mostly in one piece.

“Your friend Lio’s alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Revenge is a dish best served hot. Very, very, very hot.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, no actual revenge this chapter. It's coming, just not immediately. This is what happens when you don't plan ahead and/or make outlines, kids. This is more of a breather chapter before the action picks back up.

“Your friend Lio’s alive,” Meis says and Gueira looks at him like he’s just suggested that the sky is green and the grass is blue. 

“No,” the beast rumbles after a moment, “Saw him die.”

Meis shrugs and winces when it causes him pain, his recently dislocated shoulder pointedly throbbing. “He’s alive, Gueira. Thyma said someone come to the facility - a man - an’ claimed to know ‘im. Said he was gonna come back with Lio an’ break her out.”

Gueira’s huge head shakes back and forth. “No. Dead.”

“Fine,” Meis grunts, sinking into Gueira’s hot flank, which functions almost like a heating pad, seeping heat into his exhausted, beaten muscles and easing their ache, “Don’t believe me.”

Gueira huffs at him. “Always believe you, beloved.”

“Then, believe me now,” Meis says, tracking chipped black fingernails along a vent in Gueira’s flank as it leaks steam that would burn anybody else, “Thyma says he’s alive an’ I believe her. If Lio’s as tough as ya say he is, then he wouldn’t go down so easy.”

Gueira huffs again. “A trap,” he says pointedly.

“I don’t think so,” Meis insists, “Thyma seemed to believe it an’ I can’t imagine her havin’ hope in much o’ anything after all that time alone in there. Surprised she’s still got ‘er wits ‘bout her as much as she does, all things considered.”

Gueira whines sadly at this. Meis strokes at the side of his neck absentmindedly. 

“We gotta find Lio,” Meis decides, “Find ‘im an’ save Thyma. We gotta put an end to that hellhole an’ its fucked up research.”

“How?” Gueira rumbles.

Meis thinks about it, opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. “I...I don’t know,” he confesses, “But we have to try. If that fella Thyma met said he knew Lio, then he must be pretty closeby, right?”

“Don’t know,” Gueira growls in that gravely deep voice of his, nuzzling up against Meis with his snout, “Tomorrow. Rest now, beloved.”

“I’ll try,” Meis reluctantly agrees, already knowing he won’t be able to sleep with the memories of Vulcan and Thyma and the facility still so fresh in his mind. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the warm, steady in-and-out of Gueira’s breathing, eventually drifting off.

He’s plagued all night by visions of tasers and guns that fire icy cannon balls and walls of fire crumbling down all around him. Amongst the wreckage stands a Burnish, gleaming black and slate blue and spurting cobalt fire streaked with cyan, and in it, Meis can only see himself.

* * *

Galo swerves the Foresight Pharmaceuticals vehicle into a parallel parking space, narrowly missing a grey four-door sedan with his bumper, and rushes into his terrace-floor apartment. Inside, there’s only wreckage waiting for him, exactly as he feared, with a sickening splatter of red blood on the far wall that looks like someone tossed a paint can at it. He finds the man the blood belongs to laying dead in the bathroom floor, fingers still tightly gripping to the stained shower curtain even in death, his other arm torn clean from its socket and hanging limply alongside him. Galo recognizes the emblem embroidered on his combat vest, as well as the handgun laying on the blood-slick tiles beside him, stomach twisting. He gleans some small reassurance from the fact that none of the blood is oily-black.

He stops when he reaches the bedroom, bloody Burnish footprints streaked across the torn comforter where it hangs half-on, half-off the bed, the carpet smattered with blood and dirt from boots Galo doesn’t recognize. The window is shattered. His spirit flickers with hope as he peers outside and realizes that Lio’s footprints continue out onto the fire escape and down its silvery metallic stairs. He escaped - but, if there are no vehicles or other men here, then he must have been followed. Kray wouldn’t give up the chase so easily.

Galo wracks his mind for somewhere Lio might go to hide, then hurries back downstairs to the truck and starts off for the lakeside where they first met.

* * *

Meis wakes to his entire body mercilessly throbbing and an achingly empty stomach. It must have been almost 48 hours since his last meal. He groans and rolls over, Gueira’s five tongues promptly laving over his shoulder. He swats him away halfheartedly.

“Hungry?” Gueira prompts.

“You bet,” Meis moans, everything in him protesting movement when he tries to stand, “Thirsty, too.”

“I’ll hunt,” Gueira volunteers, gingerly nudging Meis to his feet as he stands and walking alongside him until they’re outside, making sure he doesn’t stumble or fall on the cracked, uneven terrains. Outside, the canyon crackles with sunlight so strong that the orange soil practically glowers, hissing with heat, with no foliage to speak of besides the occasional strangled brown weed or stray cactus. After their night in the dark, the sunlight is painfully bright to Meis’ one remaining eye. The heat is suffocating.

Gueira walks a few feet and examines their muddy puddle from the night before. It’s mostly dried up now, but there’s enough water left for one. “Here, beloved,” he calls, nudging Meis towards the pitiful sip of dirty water. Meis accepts it gratefully, even as a thin trickle of mud oozes down his chin afterwards. Gueira gently laps it away, then noses him to his feet.

“Wait here,” he tells him.

Meis protests, “But we always hunt together.”

“Injured,” Gueira reminds him with a nudge of Meis’ shoulder, herding him back towards the gaping crevice they spent the night in, “Stay.”

“Don’t boss me around,” Meis mumbles irritably, swatting Gueira away halfheartedly as the beast nuzzles him goodbye, then sets off into the desert in search of food. Huffing, Meis sits down and props up against one cool sandstone wall, peering out at the seeping sandy plains beyond the gully, cracked orange soil littered with dingy weeds. He thinks they’re still in Texas, somewhere. Maybe New Mexico. He was unconscious for most of the truck ride and doesn’t remember how long it took them to reach the facility. It couldn’t have been far, if Gueira was able to follow them on foot and find him within a few days. He mulls over the events of the past few days, worries about Thyma, ponders how his life ended up like this and why he doesn’t mind. He’s scared, sure, but he has Gueira, so he feels like he has nothing to truly be afraid of. Something about a giant monster boyfriend who breathes fire from a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth makes Meis feel reassuringly like the safest person in the world, whether a bloodthirsty research facility is chasing them or not.

Gueira returns with a javelina, dropping it at Meis’ feet. His forelimb must have healed itself overnight; he isn’t limping or carrying his weight funny anymore. He walks with the same proud steady gait as always, slitting the peccary’s stomach with one long claw and sinking his maw into its innards. Meis winces and reminds him, “Ya kiss me with that nasty mouth.”

Gueira only grins, his tail thumping against orange soil and sending up plumes of dust. He steps back and looks at Meis in invitation, but Meis only shakes his head and laughs.

“I ain’t eatin’ it raw, babe,” he says, “You’ve gotta cook it. I’ll get sick.”

Gueira groans dramatically, but obliges, severing pieces of haunch meat with sharp claws and torching them to charcoal-doneness with a hot burst of flames. Meis takes a piece, jaw straining to chew it. It’s somewhere between jerky and leather, but it’s food in his belly, so he doesn’t complain. He eats everything Gueira gives him and Gueira eats the parts of the carcass that he won’t, until only bones remain. Even those, Gueira crushes between sharp fangs, spilling buttery marrow that he eagerly sweeps out with his tongues. He tries to feed one to Meis, too, but Meis politely declines. Gueira huffs; his mate is stubborn.

Afterwards, Gueira retreats to the cavern to lie down. Meis lays with him, propping up on him tiredly, fingers feeling along his flank absentmindedly as he strokes him. “So,” he says after awhile, “What now?”

Gueira looks at him, head tilted to one side. Meis sighs, wrapping an arm around his neck and hugging him tight. “We can’t go back to the farmhouse,” he tells him, “an’ I can’t go home. They’ll look for me there. They might hurt my family.”

“Family?” Gueira prompts.

“Mom, Dad, two sisters,” Meis says, “None of ‘em care for me much, but I still don’t want nothin’ to happen to ‘em, y’know? I don’t wanna drag ‘em into all this. They don’t deserve that. Not even after all that grief they gave me when I was jus’ a kid.” 

Gueira rumbles, nuzzling his huge head into Meis’ lap, nursing a scrape with one tongue. The effect is immediate, the wound scabbing up and starting to heal right away. 

“I don’t think none of ‘em loved me,” Meis continues, “and I don’t really love them much myself. But I don’t want nothin’ bad to happen to ‘em, neither.”

“Understand,” Gueira says, that tongue trailing along Meis’ calf to his other wounds now, nursing cuts and scrapes and bruises. Each one makes his throat rumble with a long, low growl. Each one makes him angry, furious. The fire within simmers ever louder.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back home again,” Meis confesses, but he isn’t scared, his voice soft and steady, “But I don’t care. Cuz my home is with you, Gueira.”

Gueira looks at him for a moment, then slowly starts to purr. He likes that answer.

“So long as I’m with you,” Meis says, craning his neck forward to kiss Gueira’s snout, “I don’t care where I am. It don’t matter.”

Gueira’s tail thumps steadily against the ground in response.

“That’s why,” Meis says, gently grasping the beast’s face to gaze at the place where his eyes should be, “I want ya to turn me into a Burnish.”

Gueira’s tail stops wagging.

* * *

Galo ditches the truck before he reaches the lakeside. The Foresight Pharmaceuticals logo emblazoned in bright white on the driver’s side door would only frighten Lio off if he saw it, and Galo desperately needs to find him. He pauses every few feet and listens intently for signs of life, but the mountainside forest is quiet tonight. Not even crickets chirp in the moonlit blackness. Galo hears only the crunch of leaves beneath his own boots and the anxious throb of blood in his ears as he fights hard not to panic. He’s been training for nearly a decade to remain calm in every situation, preparing for his career as a firefighter, but right now, it’s all he can do not to panic.

Lio is a difficult beast to track. For twenty years, he’s been alone, cautious, careful, Foresight’s people following along in eternal pursuit. He knows how to evade them, but Galo is still afraid for him. Kray has always been a clever man. His people will be clever, too.

But, not as clever as his Lio, Galo tries to reassure himself as he presses on through the trees. Tree trunks are tightly packed around him once he strays from the dusty trails, stumbling over raised roots and thick brush. If Lio doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found, so it’s no surprise to either of them when Lio instead finds Galo.

A slender black shape emerges from the brush and regards him calmly with no eyes and an upturned grin of glowering white teeth. Galo feels faint with relief, stumbling forward to throw his arms around Lio’s neck and hug him tightly. Lio rumbles in his ear, one tongue gliding warmly against his cheek as tears start to fall, gently lapping them away.

“You’re okay,” Galo says through a choked sob, “You’re okay. We’re okay. C’mon, Lio, we’ve gotta get outta here.”

Lio nods. “Where to?”

“Anywhere but here,” Galo remarks, “It won’t be long before Kray’s people show up. Did you lose them?”

Lio nods again. “They’re not as smart as they think they are.”

“Listen, Lio, there’s something I need to tell you,” Galo says, cupping the Burnish’s face in his hands, rubbing rough fingertips along his jaw, just below the bottom line of his ferocious teeth, “I went to see Kray and he took me to the facility you escaped from. It was...I’m so sorry, Lio.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Lio reminds him, gradually relaxing into Galo’s grasp. His mate is warm, safe.

“But, that’s not all,” Galo continues, “There was a Burnish there! A live one!”

Lio perks up. He might have no eyes, but Galo can see the gears in his head turning nonetheless as he considers this new information, contemplating it. “Thyma,” he says a moment later, “It must be Thyma.”

Galo nods. “You know her?”

“She was the youngest in our pack when we were first taken,” Lio explains, “Just a cub. She was the runt of her litter, but her mother and siblings were all killed in the initial attack on us. She was so small that one of the whitecoats had to nurse her on a bottle and, because of that, they thought her tamer than the rest of us. The whitecoat called Dr. Heris took Thyma up to her lab often, and she always came back in terrible shape. The day of the massacre, she was nowhere to be found. I thought perhaps she finally succumbed to Dr. Heris’ experiments. Many of us did, before the massacre.”

Galo shakes his head. “No, she’s alive. She helped me escape. I promised her we’d come back for her as soon as we could, but...oh god, what if they kill her for helping me, Lio?”

“They won’t,” Lio says.

“How can you be so sure?” Galo asks.

“Thyma is special,” Lio replies, “Dr. Heris had her from such a young age that she could... _ change  _ her, the way she couldn’t change the rest of us. I don’t know what the whitecoats did to her, exactly. But Thyma could heal faster than any of us, by the time Dr. Heris was done with her. They injected her with things. Did things to her that I don’t understand. Dr. Heris said Thyma would save a lot of humans.”

Galo releases Lio’s face, scratching idly at the freshly healed scars on his arm. “Kray said something about...stem cell research? That the Burnish could regenerate organs and heal broken bones really quickly, and that experimenting on them could save a lot of human lives. But…”

“It would mean a life in a cage for my people,” Lio finishes for him, “Hooked up to machines to drain the life right out of us, and give it to the people that Kray Foresight finds more deserving.”

Galo plucks at the scar tissue, dried-out skin flaking off and crumbling away. “Kray...also said something else.”

Lio glances at him imploringly. 

“He said a Burnish burnt down my family’s home and killed them,” Galo says softly, looking away, “A Burnish named Lio.”

Lio droops visibly. “And you believe him?”

“Of course not!” Galo says quickly, “I...I don’t think so, anyways. Kray’s always told lies. He just thought I was too stupid to notice. I think...he was probably lying about that, too. I just...wanted to know for sure.”

“I’ve never burnt down a house in my life,” Lio tells him and Galo lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relieved, “Burnish don’t make a habit of harming people without reason. We don’t hurt people unless we have no other choice - and, even then, I prefer not to burn them. I’m well aware that that’s a terrible fate for a human, even a deserving one.”

“Have you ever...killed anyone?” Galo asks softly.

“I have,” Lio says, “I’ve killed whitecoats. I felt I had no choice. Do you blame me?”

Galo shakes with a sigh. “Of course not. I saw what Kray’s been doing to the Burnish. I saw those awful cages he kept you all in. I know I’ll never really understand, but...I don’t blame you, not for a second.”

“You understand that if a Burnish bites someone and chooses to, they can turn them into a Burnish, don’t you?”

Galo nods wordlessly.

“We don’t do it often,” Lio says, “We had no reason to, back when we were free. We knew that it could happen, but we usually only did it if someone  _ wanted  _ to become a Burnish. Usually, a human who chose one of us for their mate.”

“Like me,” Galo adds, helpfully.

“Yes,” Lio says, “but I have a hard time believing that Promepolis’ number one firefighter would ever want to become a Burnish.”

“I’d do it for you,” Galo says.

Lio nestles his head into Galo’s nape. “I would never ask you to change for me, Galo Thymos. You are perfect exactly as you are. Never change. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

Galo hugs him tighter, pressing a butterfly kiss to his pointy snout. Lio presses closer.

“I’ve bitten someone only once,” Lio says, “and not because he asked me to. I did it as  _ punishment.” _

“Who was it?” Galo asks meekly, but the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that he already knows, whether he wants to believe it or not.

Lio replies, “Kray Foresight.”

* * *

Gueira’s tail stops wagging and Meis frowns at him, interrupting an argument before it can start, “Stop, I’ve already made up my mind. Only place I’ve ever belonged is with you an’ I can’t be with ya if I’m a human, not forever. You’re gonna live a real long time an’ I’m not, unless ya turn me into a Burnish. An’ that’s assumin’ those folks from the facility don’t find us an’ kill me first. They ain’t gonna let me just walk away, luv. I know too much an’ all that. An’ besides...ya told me once that ya wanted to take the form of your mate. Now it’s my turn.”

Gueira hesitates. “Need to turn human,” he says after a moment, this conversation too much of a strain on his vocal cords. Meis nods and, stepping back, Gueira lets his flames envelope him, burning him down to ashes and rebuilding him anew, this time as a redheaded human with fierce amber eyes, a scar over the bridge of his nose, and the same fierce red horns. He sits back down beside Meis, arms already reaching, until he’s curled tightly around him, naked as a jaybird with nothing to cloth himself in.

“I can’t, beloved,” Gueira says right away and Meis makes a protesting sound, before Gueira quietens him gently and continues, “What if we’re caught? If you’re human, the worst they can do is kill you. I would never forgive myself for it, but at least you would only be dead and not chained up in some cell in their sick facility, while they slowly pump the life out of you for their research. I don’t know if I could bear to see you experimented on that way.”

He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “They used to do real bad stuff to us, sometimes. Said it was to test the extent of our healing abilities. Tore my intestines clean outta my body once, let ‘em spill all over the exam table. It hurt so much, beloved. But not as much as it would hurt to see them do that same thing to you.”

Meis pales. “That’s…”

Gueira’s shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. He feels so much smaller in this form, fitting snugly into Meis’ arms where he cradles him on the cavern floor despite the oppressive midday heat. It could be two hundred degrees outside and he would still welcome Gueira’s warmth. “When you can regenerate, there’s no regard for your safety or wellbeing. Very few things can actually kill a Burnish. Anything less than fatal and we’ll just regenerate from it. Foresight’s people knew that, knew how to use it. Didn’t stop ‘em from just killin’ us all in the end.”

It’s horrific news, but despite himself, Meis can’t help his twinge of a smile when he hears a glimpse of his accent on Gueira’s tongue. “They were awful to ya, luv. But they’re never gonna hurt ya again, ya hear? I’ll make sure o’ it.”

Meis feels Gueira’s lips smiling against the underside of his throat, where his chapped lips lay tender kisses on bruised skin. “I would never fight them if I had any other choice, I’ve seen what those people are capable of. It should be unthinkable, for a human to kill a Burnish, but Foresight’s people found a way. But, if any of them ever lay a single finger on you again, beloved...I’ll fight them with my dying breath. They’ll spend the final moments of their lives regretting it.”

“After the past couple o’ days, there’s a few of ‘em I’d like to make regret a thing or two, too,” Meis huffs, fingers absentmindedly brushing along the sutures in his empty eye socket.

Gueira frowns, gently grasping Meis’ wrist and pulling it away, to lay tender kisses on the stitched wound instead. “I wish I had known sooner,” he laments, “I could have fixed it, if it hadn’t already started to heal on its own.”

Meis shrugs faintly, frowning. “Least it’ll look pretty badass once it heals.”

Gueira shakes his head, smiling sadly. “I admire your grit, beloved. You were very strong, to have endured that for three whole days. My mate is the strongest, the bravest. I’m very lucky to have you, my love.”

“You’re such a sap,” Meis says, as he hides his smile in Gueira’s chest. It’s warm and bare, beckoning him in. He’s already tired again, but knows he shouldn’t sleep here twice in a row. Foresight’s people will be looking for them, and they’re still dangerously closeby. “Gueira, will ya do it? Will ya please turn me into a Burnish?”

Gueira hesitates, features furrowing into a frown. If the circumstances were different, Meis would say he looks cute like that, his chapped lower lip pooched out in a pout while his thick brows furrow in concentration. “You understand that it’s an enormous risk, if we’re caught and you’re a Burnish?”

Meis nods. “Let’s face it, Gueira. We stand a better chance against ‘em if I  _ am  _ a Burnish. Least then, I can defend myself without...without bein’ such a liability to ya.”

Gueira cups his jaw, glowering amber eyes boring right into his. “You are never a liability to me, beloved.”

Meis swats his hand away irritably. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. My point is, if Fucksight’s people show up again, I wanna be able to help. We’ve gotta help, Gueira. They’ve still got Thyma. We can’t jus’ leave ‘er there.”

“No, of course not,” Gueira agrees, deep in thought, “You understand that things will be...different for you, if you’re a Burnish? You’ll have to learn to control your fire. You’ll never know a normal human life again, beloved. Is that really and truly what you want?”

“Really and truly,” Meis says, “What I want is to be with you.”

Gueira’s features soften with a smile. “You really are something else, beloved.”

Meis uncurls his body from Gueira’s, peeling away from him with the tattered remnants of his clothing sticking tightly to his body with sweat. He smiles as he brushes his hair behind his ear, one bright blue eye and one empty stitched socket on display, then tilts his head to one side and gently touches the crescent moon of little scars where Gueira bit him before, patting the spot in invitation.

Fire rolls over Gueira’s form, and then a great black beast sinks its glinting green teeth into Meis’ shoulder.

* * *

“Kray’s a Burnish,” Galo repeats for the umpteenth time from where he sits between Lio’s slender black shoulders, descending through mountainside forest and back towards the streets of Promepolis, dangerously near to civilization. It’s the shortest route to the desert outside the city, where Kray Foresight’s Burnish research facility hides in secret. That’s where they’re going: to rescue Thyma, to confront Kray, to put an end to it, once and for all.

Underneath Galo, Lio huffs, “I made certain of it.”

“Why?”

“Because Foresight needs to understand what it means to be one of us, to be something other than human, to know that all living things suffer and suffer alike,” Lio says, his voice strained from the exertion of carrying Galo so far, “I was a fool to think it would make him understand. If he  _ truly  _ cared about researching the healing capabilities of the Burnish and saving his own people, he would offer up his own skin for once. He’s a Burnish himself now. He can save his sick as well as we can, but that was never what truly mattered to him. He only wanted to sit up in his skyscraper in a city that adores him and pretend to be their hero.”

Galo pales. “You’re right,” he says meekly.

Lio slows to a brisk trot. They’re on the outskirts of Promepolis now, but the warehouses this far from the city’s center are abandoned at this hour, the night clear and dark around them. He sniffs, listens, makes sure that it’s safe. Only then does he continue, shrinking towards the desert. “Are you alright, kitten?”

“I’m fine,” Galo fibs.

“You know I always know when you’re lying, kitten,” Lio reminds him, “It’s alright to be sad. It’s alright to mourn the person you thought you knew. It’s alright to be upset after making the right decision. And...I’m sorry that he disappointed you. You deserved a better father than that.”

“He was always kinda cold,” Galo confesses, “But I never knew what was really going on with his research. I feel like such an idiot. This was going on this entire time, right under my nose, Lio. And I never even knew.”

“You didn’t know because Kray didn’t want you to,” Lio reminds him, darting away from the city and into the beginnings of the wastelands beyond now, “If you hadn’t run me over, you probably would have never known any different. He certainly wasn’t going to tell you.”

“You’re right,” Galo concedes, sighing into the back of Lio’s neck, where he has the slightest mane of greenish-blonde fur springing up from his smooth black hide, “I’m just...sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Lio says, “You didn’t know and, if you had, you would have tried to stop it. I know you, Galo Thymos. You’re no Foresight.”

Galo is quiet for a moment, then whispers, “I wonder if my parents would be proud of me.”

Lio eyelessly glances back at him over his shoulder. “I know they would be, kitten.”

Galo only hums weakly in response, his arms hanging around Lio’s neck as he rides him through the inky blackness of the desert at night.

Only when the sun has nearly risen does Lio finally decide to stop. He’s exhausted from being awake and on edge for so long, retreating into the shade of a rocky outcropping to rest for a few hours before continuing. Galo slides off his shoulders, pulling a half-empty bottle of water from his backpack and drinking half of it, before he pours the other half into Lio’s open maw. Lio accepts it gratefully, before sinking to his stomach in the sand and resting his head in Galo’s lap.

“You should rest, babe,” Galo offers, “I’ll take first watch.”

Lio nods. “But first...there’s something I want you to know, kitten.”

“What’s that?” Galo hums absentmindedly.

“I want you to know,” Lio says softly, “how to kill a Burnish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: A new Burnish awakens. Gueira thinks it's kinda hot.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, Meis and Gueira's Burnish forms are based on [these designs](https://twitter.com/andr0nap/status/1285803400861552640) by [andr0nap](https://twitter.com/andr0nap) on Twitter! Please show them some love!
> 
> Next Chapter: A reunion and plotting revenge.

“Burnish can die from only three things,” Lio says from where he lies beneath Galo, the firefighter’s shock of blue hair tickling at Lio’s sleek black hide where he lays against it, “Trauma to the heart and trauma to the brain.”

“That’s only two things,” Galo points out.

“Ah, so you can count, look at you,” Lio teases good-naturedly.

Galo scoffs. “Lio, I’m serious!”

“Trauma to the heart and brain are easy, they’re among the most complex types of tissue and difficult to regenerate properly. Burnish can’t regenerate them quickly or accurately enough to save themselves if either is seriously damaged,” Lio elaborates, “Foresight’s ice weapons are particularly effective against us. The cold slows our flames and ensures that we can’t regenerate as quickly. Shot through the heart or head with one of them, we’re almost certain to die within a few minutes, maybe less.”

“The third thing,” he continues, “we didn’t find out until the massacre, the day I escaped the facility. Burnish can be blown up, so that they’re so far beyond repair that they can’t possibly regenerate themselves. Only about a quarter of those at the facility died from Foresight’s freezing weapons. The others all died in explosions. That was Colonel Vulcan’s doing.”

Galo is quiet for a moment. “Who’s Colonel Vulcan?”

“A nasty man,” Lio says, “who I believe Foresight must have intentionally bred from a long line of nasty men to ensure he was as cruel as possible. The logic behind it was sound enough, Burnish are full of fire. It burns within us at all times and, even when it burns low, it burns hot. It’s dangerous for us to be around flammable materials, much less explosives. They made short work of us. I’m sure there are other ways to kill us, too, things we just don’t know about yet. So long as Foresight lives, he’ll keep coming up with new ways to hurt us.”

“But why?” Galo asks. When Lio looks at him, he’s pale. His lower lip is trembling.

“Because Foresight is a man who fancies himself a god,” Lio says, craning his very long neck down to gently nudge Galo’s hair out of his face and lick him, “He fancied himself your god, too, kitten.”

“He’s not,” Galo says softly, “Not anymore.”

* * *

Glinting green teeth sink into Meis’ shoulder. He grunts in vague pain, but it’s a familiar sort of pang by now, with the way Gueira loves to latch onto him while he’s rutting into him with all the feverish ferality of an animal.

The bite is over as soon as it begins and Meis is only vaguely aware that it’s stinging. Gueira is quick to lave a tongue over it, blood clotting instantly in the thick Burnish saliva. Meis felt a brief rush of fluid when Gueira’s fangs first made contact, but otherwise, it feels no different from his usual love bites.

“I don’t feel any different,” Meis says.

Gueira rumbles with a hyena’s laughter. “Takes time, beloved.”

“How much time?” Meis asks.

“Tomorrow,” Gueira says simply, his snout nudging the hem of Meis’ shirt up, tongues trailing along the bruises on his back and ribs to heal them. Meis grunts uncomfortably when Gueira noses his ribs, which he imagines must be in pieces after Vulcan was finished with him. He’s just grateful he didn’t puncture a lung or rupture an organ; he didn’t know if Gueira could help him if his injuries were on the inside.

“So, I’m gonna wake up tomorrow mornin’ an’ be a werewolf alien,” Meis chuckles, pushing Gueira’s huge head away, “Awesome.”

Rumbling, Gueira returns his head to Meis’ nape, tongues laving along the fresh bite wound again. His saliva is hot like his fire, but the sensation it provides is almost cool, soothing the ache into dullness. Meis is dimly aware of a stinging sensation traveling down his arm now, imagining it must be Gueira’s venom flowing through his veins, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels warm, comforting.

“So,” Meis lulls as he cradles Gueira’s huge head in his hands, staring into the empty space where the beast’s eyes should be with his own remaining eye half-lidded, “What should we do now, babe?”

Gueira reluctantly leaves the warmth of Meis’ hands, backing up several steps before he turns around and presents to his partner, lithe black tail lifted in invitation.

Meis chuckles heartily, shaking his head. “You’re insatiable.”

* * *

Gueira rumbles, “Only for you, beloved.”

Galo can’t sleep. Lio can’t, either.

“When did you bite Kray?” Galo asks after the two of them have laid in relative silence for a few hours, both exhausted and yet unable to drift away.

“About twenty years ago,” Lio says, “You would’ve been just a cub, wouldn’t you?”

Galo nods. “Yeah, I would’ve been five. That’s the year my parents died.”

“You said it was a housefire?” Lio asks.

“Yeah, an electrical fire, something shorted out in the kitchen, while we were asleep,” Galo says, “I was lucky, or at least, Kray always said I was.”

“You humans age very differently from us Burnish,” Lio comments, “A five-year-old Burnish is just a tiny thing, can’t even talk. You grow up quickly.”

“How old are you?” Galo asks.

“Sixty-eight,” Lio says, “A young adult, by Burnish standards. About your age, if I was human.”

Galo snorts. “That’s kinda old, in human years.”

“Good thing I’m not human, then” Lio remarks, “I wonder how we might have met, if I was.”

“Guess we’ll never know,” Galo laments, “It would’ve been nice, if we could’ve gone on dates and stuff. There’s a lot I would’ve liked to show you.”

Lio nuzzles his shoulder. “There’s a lot you already have, kitten.”

“You speak a lot more clearly than Thyma,” Galo comments, an arm around Lio’s lithe black neck, fingertips scratching idly along the gill-like vents that flutter open and closed with every steady breath, “Her speech is a little broken. I could understand her alright, though.”

“Thyma still speaks more plainly than most Burnish can in their true form,” Lio replies, “It’s an enormous strain on our vocal cords to speak English, or any human language, with much articulation. Thyma spent a lot of time around humans, especially Dr. Heris, and she was an incredibly well-spoken woman, so Thyma must have picked up on a lot from her.”

“You manage it pretty well,” Galo remarks, fingering at the pale greenish-blonde mane sprouting down the length of Lio’s spine, silky-soft like his hair in human form. Then, something suddenly clicks. He sits upright, turning around to face Lio as he stares at him hard. “Wait, that doctor. Her name is  _ Heris?  _ What’s her last name?”

Lio stares back eyelessly. “Heris Ardebit,” he says after considering it for a moment, flipping back through twenty years of solitude to dredge the name up from his memories, “I think it was Ardebit.”

“That’s Aina’s sister,” Galo says, heart sinking, “You remember Aina?”

“Of course I do,” Lio surmises, “I remember her pink hair and her loud voice. I never saw her again after that. Where did she go?”

“Home,” Galo replies, “She lives in an apartment complex on the other side of town. We work together at the fire department. She asked me what happened to you. I said you decided to stick around and we never talked about it again, unless I brought it up. I think she was kinda freaked out about the whole experience. You  _ are  _ kinda intimidating looking, y’know?”

Lio’s chin rises and falls in a nod. “Still, I didn’t take Aina for the type to have a sister who experiments on my people. She seemed kind, the one time I met her.”

“She  _ is  _ kind,” Galo insists, “I only know her sister cuz Aina’s shown us pictures of them together and talks about her a lot, but she says...oh. She said Heris worked a government job, but would never tell her more than that. She was worried about it, said she wished she knew what Heris was getting up to.”

“Nothing good,” Lio muses, “It’s better for Aina if she doesn’t know, isn’t it? If Aina is as kind as you say she is, she wouldn’t be happy to know what her sister is doing to us Burnish. She might not know how to cope with it. What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”

“But maybe she deserves to know,” Galo adds.

“Maybe,” Lio says, “Heris was not the most cruel of the whitecoats. I don’t believe she was a completely bad person, but she’s misguided. Foresight has convinced her that she’s fighting for the right thing. It’s easier for her to believe that we’re just animals, like lab rats for her to experiment on without moral conflict. But, even lab rats suffer, don’t they? All living things do.”

Galo’s fingers instinctively wander to the freshly healed burn scars on his arm. “Thyma was so scared when she first saw me. She thought I was one of Kray’s people. Her first instinct was to attack me, because she thought I was going to hurt her. She must be so afraid.”

“Burnish are as resilient as living things come,” Lio comments, “but Thyma has been at the facility for a long time. She was very young when she first came there. She doesn’t know anything else. We can only hope she’s able to adapt to life outside it, once we get her out.”

“She will,” Galo says with confidence, “I know she will. She’s tough, just like you.”

Lio lowers his elongated head to Galo’s lap, rumbling softly, “Hope you’re right.”

“Of course I am! I’m the great Galo Thymos!” his mate exclaims while pointing a thumb towards his chest and grinning as enthusiastically as ever, a smile that Lio firmly believes could outshine the very sun, but it’s short-lived, ebbing away into a stern thoughtful frown that doesn’t suit him, “I’m sorry, Lio. I didn’t know about Kray, and I didn’t know about Heris. Maybe Aina could’ve talked some sense into her. Maybe I...I could have stopped Kray.”

Lio’s tail twitches in agitation at the mere mention of the man’s name. “Foresight wouldn’t have been swayed by anyone, not even his own son. It’s no fault of yours, Galo. You played no part in starting this. Only in...ending it.”

Galo leans his head back into the rockface behind them, cool with the desert’s starry night. “You really think we can end this? We’ll save Thyma and escape in one piece and we can just...forget it ever happened?”

“Maybe,” Lio remarks, “I’ll never forget. Neither will Thyma - or you, for that matter. But, maybe we can heal from it. Healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about learning, changing, being better, being whole again.”

“If we win, what are we gonna do afterwards?” Galo asks.

Lio wraps two clawed forelimbs around Galo’s waist, lifting his huge head to roll three tongues over his handsomely shaped jaw. “When we win, Galo. Where’s that blinding optimism I’ve always known you for?”

Galo shrugs weakly, hugging Lio’s neck. “Dunno. Guess you lose hope a little when you realize you’re gonna have to fight your own dad. If Kray ever even...y’know, actually thought of himself as my dad. He was never around much, y’know? Maybe I was just good publicity.”

Lio licks his cheek again, gently this time. “You were a better son than he ever deserved, Galo Thymos. You are the only good thing he’s ever done for this world,” he says in a soft growling voice, seeming thoughtful, “As for what we’ll do when all of this is over...I think I would like to take my mate and find somewhere safe for us. We have a life to live together, after all, and I would like to spend it happily, away from all of this, once and for all.”

Galo’s ribcage shudders with a sigh, his fingers reaching for the spread toes of Lio’s forelimb to squeeze them gently. Despite himself, he manages a smile. “I would like that.”

Lio nuzzles his cheek. “I would like that, too.”

* * *

“Are all Burnish as needy as you?” Meis teases from where he kneels underneath Gueira’s belly, one hand squeezing gently at his sizable balls while the other firmly grasps the base of his thick red cock, pumping lightly as pre oozes from its tapered tip and drips down onto the cracked canyon floor between his knees.

“Doubt it,” Gueira rumbles good-naturedly, that lithe black tail wagging cheerfully behind him, “Was away from mate for three whole days.”

“Yeah, three whole days an’ you’re already starvin’ for some sex,” Meis teases, giving Gueira’s cock a gentle squeeze. Gueira whines, hips rolling into his grasp gently.

“Want you to fuck me,” Gueira huffs, a plume of smoke rising from his slit nostrils, his shuddering breath sending sand flying up underneath them. 

“Gettin’ there,” Meis replies, “Lemme enjoy you a bit first, ya impatient brute.”

“Want you on top of me,” Gueira pants, five tongues lolling from his toothy maw now, dripping saliva onto the canyon floor.

Meis blinks, pausing mid-lick. “Ya want me to top ya?” 

Gueira nods enthusiastically, sending droplets of saliva flying.

Chuckling, Meis gives his cock head another slow, deliberate swirl with his tongue, tasting the sweet-tangyness of pre. “Don’t think I can even reach ya, luv.”

“Will bend down,” Gueira whines needily and Meis laughs, squeezing the swell of his cock shaft teasingly. Gueira bucks his hips into the touch. “Please, beloved.”

“Alright, alright,” Meis obliges, giving Gueira’s cock a final lick before he stands, dusting sand off the tattered remains of his trousers, “Ya need me to get ya ready?”

Gueira shakes his head, hunched down rather comically with the front half of his body pressed into the canyon floor and his well-muscled ass in the air, slender black tail lifted in invitation. “Already ready,” he reassures him.

Meis quirks a brow, not so well-manicured after three days in the research facility, days which included no small shortage of beating and torture and no such thing as an eyebrow pencil. “How?” he demands.

Gueira pauses, seeming to consider how to explain it, before he settles on, “Always ready.”

“What are ya, some sorta self-lubricatin’ -” Meis starts to ask, then cuts off mid-sentence when he takes his place behind Gueira and takes a handful of taut black ass, realizing that Gueira’s tight pucker is, indeed, shiny-wet and slick. “Oh, fuck me. Do you filthy Burnish do anything but fuck on your home planet?” 

Gueira huffs in embarrassment, giving Meis a lighthearted swat with his tail tip. “Burnish males rut each other often,” he says.

“So I’ve gathered,” Meis drawls, spreading Gueira’s haunches to admire the view, one fingertip gathering up the wetness pooling there to spread it around Gueira’s tight little rim, “To the point that ya evolved to have nice lubed-up asses for each other. Convenient.”

Gueira huffs at him again, that tail giving him another swat, less good-natured this time. Meis only laughs, slipping a finger into Gueira curiously and finding it to be as slick as it looked. He adds a second, then a third, until Gueira keens and rocks his huge hips for him. Grinning, Meis withdraws his fingers, making the monster whine needily, and wipes them on his trousers, before unbuckling his belt and pushing them down to his knees. “Ya done this before?” he asks, more out of curiosity than actual concern. He’ll be fortunate if someone Gueira’s size can even  _ feel  _ his modest cock.

“Many times,” Gueira rumbles, “Please fuck me, beloved.”

Chuckling, Meis strokes his cock a few times. It’s been rock-hard and ready, drooling pre from its dusky pink head, ever since he slid beneath Gueira earlier to suckle at his thick cock, hungering for release as he presses it against Gueira’s pucker. Then, with a pleased grunt, he pushes into that tight, wet heat, finding it to be nearly overwhelming on the first thrust, already panting softly by the time his hips meet Gueira’s backside. “There ya go,” he grunts, giving Gueira’s haunch a squeeze, “Can ya even feel me in there? Ya swallowed me up whole an’ you’re a whole lot bigger than me.”

Gueira only sighs contentedly, tail swaying to Meis’ left. “Feels good, beloved,” he reassures him, “Please fuck me.”

Meis is more than happy to oblige, drawing his hips back until only the head of his cock is still inside, then thrusting back into Gueira with as much force as his tired battered body can manage right now, their hips meeting with a wanton wet smack. Gueira rumbles with a moan, barking up smoke in arousal, and Meis sighs happily at the feeling. Gueira is unbelievably warm inside, so much so that he doesn’t doubt that the beast’s heat would burn anyone else, but he’s grown strangely immune to it since Gueira gave him his mating mark. In fact, if anything, the heat feels good to him now, reassuring and familiar as he delves his cock in and out of it, making his monstrous mate keen and whine like a whore.

“Feels good, feels so good…,” Gueira pants, dripping saliva onto the canyon floor, where it lands in sticky, thick pools. He closes his maw for a moment, smacking his lips with five tongues, then opens it again, around a remark of, “Will feel even better when you’re a Burnish, beloved.”

“Plannin’ ahead already?” Meis teases, picking up the pace as he feels a familiar heat building in his depths, chasing his release selfishly, “Plannin’ on us havin’ some weird, wild monster sex?”

The Burnish pauses. “Aren’t you?”

Meis laughs. “Yeah, it might ‘ave crossed my mind once o’ twice. I’m more stoked to be able to start fires with my mind though.”

Gueira rumbles with a chuckle, which breaks off into a growly moan as Meis hastens his pace again, pushing into him as fast and hard as his injured body will allow. Meis moans too, caught up in the pursuit of his orgasm in Gueira’s wonderful tight, wet heat. “Gueira,” he whines breathlessly after a moment, “Gonna come.”

Gueira spreads his hind legs wider, as if in invitation, and Meis shoves into him as far as he can, coming undone with a breathless moan, sweat beading on his forehead and sticking his tattered clothes to his slender body with moisture as he releases in Gueira’s depths. Underneath him, Gueira’s cock jumps with arousal, bouncing off his belly, but doesn’t come, not yet.

The exhaustion of fucking his fire-monster lover beneath the sweltering heat of a midday Texas sun in the desert hits Meis all at once and he crumples to his knees with a sated sigh, cock sliding out of Gueira’s heat wetly to flop limply between his legs. He takes a moment to tuck himself back into his trousers, then reaches for Gueira’s throbbing red cock, fingers wrapping as far around its impressive girth as they can reach, stroking feverishly. Gueira snarls with a moan, thrusting his hips into Meis’ tough eagerly, before he finally comes undone with a sharp yelp and a burst of flame that spits out from between his fangs before he can stop it. He comes buckets, same as always, spurting jet after jet of hot, thick, off-white come onto the canyon floor before it finally slows to a dribble, his cock head dripping like a leaky faucet as Meis gives him a few more gentle but firm strokes and finally lets his hand fall away.

“There ya go,” Meis sighs contently, flopping down on his back on the desert sand, feeling along the cracks in the dried-out earth absentmindedly with one hand, “Feels good.”

Gueira lays down alongside him, pointedly positioning himself between Meis and the aggressive glower of the midday sun, giving him some small reprieve from its heat. He rests his huge head beside Meis, tail thumping against the cracked earth in a silent request that Meis knows all too well now, smiling softly as he reaches over and starts to stroke the smooth, black skin between Gueira’s curving red horns. “Needy,” he teases and Gueira huffs at him, giving him a gentle flick with his tail tip.

“We need to find water soon,” Meis comments after several minutes, feeling himself growing more and more dehydrated with every minute he spends sweating.

“Will find some,” Gueira reassures him, already getting to his feet, “You rest, beloved.”

Meis is too tired after the previous three days’ events and their horny romp to protest, shrinking back into the relative cool of the cavern to lie down on the cracked canyon floor and rest. Outside, Gueira disappears into the distance, a sleek black shape on the horizon.

Meis closes his eyes against the oppressive heat. He’s vaguely aware of a faint burning sensation flowing through his veins as he drifts off.

* * *

Lio nudges Galo awake when the moon rises. “We should move,” he says as Galo groggily blinks awake, not entirely well-rested after spending the evening half-asleep and half-alert on the rough desert sands, “I’m sorry to wake you, kitten.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Galo reassures him, sleepily getting to his feet, “Good thinking, moving at night will help us avoid detection. You’re so smart, Lio.”

“Thank you,” Lio says, squatting to half-height and letting Galo climb onto his shoulders. Galo is a heavier load than a Burnish his size would ordinarily carry, but like hell would Lio let his beloved exhaust himself walking halfway across the desert before they even reached their destination. Besides, he would need his strength for when they arrived, “It’s a long walk from here, I’m afraid. But, we should reach Foresight’s lab by sunrise. If we’re lucky, the whitecoats will be groggy so early in the morning and we can catch them off-guard. But it isn’t them I’m worried about.”

“Who  _ are  _ you worried about, then?” Galo asks, “The guards, maybe?”

“No, I can more than handle the guards, even Colonel Vulcan,” Lio reassures him as he sets off into the desert at a steady trot, nostrils flaring as he constantly scans the air for changes in scent, keeping an eye on which direction it blows in, “The only thing I’m worried about is Foresight himself.”

Galo is quiet for a moment. Then, softly, he asks, “Do you think we’ll have to kill him?”

Lio hesitates, slowing his pace, but doesn’t stop entirely. “I think,” he says after a moment, “the only way my people can ever know peace is for Foresight to die. I’m sorry. I understand if you have to hate me for this, kitten.”

“I could never hate you,” Galo says, resting his head on the back of Lio’s neck, his arms wrapped around it. The desert grows cold after dark and Lio’s warmth is reassuring and familiar underneath him. “But I think I might have to hate Kray, after seeing what he did to you. What he did to all the Burnish. You’re not lab rats for his scientists to experiment on. You’re people.”

Lio can’t believe his good fortune in meeting this man. Kray was the closest thing to a father that he had ever known, since his own perished in a housefire when he was a mere five years old, and yet Galo hadn’t hesitated for one moment to confront him when Lio told him the truth about the Burnish. He hadn’t doubted Lio, not for a minute, and now, he was willing to help him overthrow the very man he called his father for all these years for the sake of not only Lio, but for all the Burnish, however few their numbers might now be. Lio considers himself lucky to have such a good mate.

“You astound me, Galo Thymos,” he says, then hastens his pace and carries on towards the facility.

* * *

It’s hot.

It’s so, so hot.

Meis opens his eyes, panting softly as sweltering heat surges through him. His blood feels like fire in his veins. He looks around, slightly panicked, and realizes that Gueira isn’t back yet. He must not have been asleep for very long, he thinks, judging by how little the sun has sunk in the bright blue sky. It couldn’t have been more than an hour.

Maybe he’s so hot because he overexerted himself with Gueira earlier, or maybe because he’s dehydrated and needs water, or maybe because the midday heat is just that intense in Texas. But, he’s lived here all his life and he’s never once felt this warm, like his body is burning him up from the inside.

He coughs up embers and realizes for the first time that his fingertips have sprouted hard black claws. He’s almost startled, before he remembers that Gueira bit him and that this is probably just how the transformation from human to Burnish begins. He sits up, studying his new claws, flicking them together to watch how embers fly off of them and drift off into the stagnant summer air.

_ Burn _ , something in him whispers and Meis obliges, chapped lips parting around a puny hiccup of fire that scorches up his throat painlessly. Whereas Gueira’s flames are bright red, the color of fresh blood, glowing throughout with hues of scarlet, Meis’ fire is an icy slate blue tinged with bright cyan. The voice in the back of his mind beckons once more and he coughs up another pitiful spark of flame. He suspects he won’t be able to burn the way Gueira does until he fully transforms into a Burnish - or perhaps it comes with experience and will require practice. He hopes not; he’s already plotting his revenge on that bastard Colonel Vulcan for what he did to his eye, and for what he and his staff did to Gueira’s pack twenty years prior. 

He stifles his flames for now, however. He doesn’t want to blaze out of control when Gueira isn’t here to help him if something strange happens, and he doesn’t want the smoke from his flames alerting anyone to his presence without Gueira here to protect him, either. He sighs, a little startled when smoke comes out on his breath, and leans into the relative cool of the cavern wall, listening intently for any signs of Gueira’s return. It’s so hot that the air around him seems to vibrate and he isn’t sure if it’s from the desert heat or from his own fire. Which is hotter? He doesn’t know.

Gueira’s stark black figure appears on the horizon shortly thereafter. The beast lumbers back to their makeshift den, with another dead javelina dangling from his jaws. He drops it when he sees Meis, where it lays forgotten while Gueira bounds over to him.

“Already?” Gueira prompts when Meis coughs up another mouthful of embers, scratching underneath his red chin with newly formed claws. Meis presses his forehead to Gueira’s chest, the way he always does when he hugs him, and realizes for the first time that he’s grown the beginnings of a horn. It’s just a nub now, he notes as he feels it with his sharp black fingertips, but it feels like it’s still growing. “Happening fast,” Gueira remarks, “Didn’t know how fast it would happen.”

Meis only shrugs, privately wondering why he suddenly has the primitive urge to tear into the carcass Gueira brought him tooth and nail and devour the shreds of meat raw. “It’s good that it’s happenin’ fast, ain’t it? Means we’ll have one more Burnish on our side when we go get Thyma.”

Gueira seems to be in agreement, but still spends several seconds tentatively nosing around Meis’ body and sniffing at him, carefully checking him for any changes that might cause him any pain. Only when he’s certain that Meis is okay - and Meis is giggling from his hot breath tickling his bruised ribs - does he finally back away and return to the carcass, tearing it open and spilling blood and innards on the canyon floor. For once, Meis doesn’t feel disgusted.

“Hungry?” Gueira asks, “Found water. Short walk from here. Will take you after we eat.”

Meis nods. “I’m not as thirsty as I was.”

“Burnish don’t drink much,” Gueira offers, tearing a piece of meat off and roasting it to near-blackness with his fire before he tenderly places it in Meis’ outstretched palm. Meis bites into it, surprised at how easily his teeth cut through it after Gueira practically turned it to leather. His fangs must already be coming in, too.

Gueira feeds Meis until he stops accepting food, then eats his fill from what’s left and hunkers down, signalling that he wants Meis to mount him. Meis does so, straddling him the same way he would a horse and hugging his neck to keep himself in place as Gueira sets off at a trot.

There’s a waterhole relatively closeby, nearly dried up to nothing this time of year, but there’s still enough water for them both to drink and then some. Meis thinks he’ll drink and drink and drink until the whole thing’s run dry, but to his surprise, he doesn’t. A few cupped handfuls of water and his thirst is more than sated. Gueira dips his head beside him, drinking his fill with five long cupped tongues, smacking his lips as he backs away a moment later.

“Not thirsty, beloved?” he asks, nosing Meis back towards the water. It’s stagnant, muddy, and wholly unattractive, but they’re lucky the desert had even this to offer.

Meis shrugs. “I told ya, I’m not as thirsty as I was.”

Gueira nuzzles his shoulder. “Making sure. Take care of mate.”

“You take right good care of your mate,” Meis replies, pressing a kiss to the monster’s snout, “Let’s get back to the den. ‘m tired.”

Gueira nods and hunkers down for Meis to mount him, then sets off for the den. Meis is holding onto the tall black scutes in front of Gueira’s shoulders when he feels a strange tingling sensation running up the length of his forearm. He glances down and watches as, before his very eyes, the bruises from his beating two days prior fade to yellow-green and then disappear completely. He releases Gueira with one hand just long enough to press his claws into the skin, finding it to be totally healed where it had been black with a bruise mere seconds before.

By the time Gueira reaches their makeshift den and Meis dismounts him, there isn’t a bruise on his body. He shrugs off the tattered remains of his crop top, which is now little more than a shirt collar with a few streamers of black fabric hanging off of it sadly, and examines his ribs, which feel solid and secure where they had felt loose and broken that afternoon. He drops the shirt, feeling where the row of sutures had sewn his right eye socket closed over nothing and finding that the wound has not only completely healed itself, but the stitches have dissolved. He pries the eyelid open with a claw and prod at the socket, disappointed when he finds it still empty. He had privately been hoping that he could somehow retroactively regenerate his eye, but it doesn’t work like that, he supposes.

His roaming hands are interrupted when Gueira gives him a curious sniff, checking on him. “‘m fine,” he reassures him, then gestures to the smooth, milky-white flesh of his slender stomach, “Look, all the bruises are gone. ‘m already healin’ like a Burnish.”

Gueira noses his stomach as if to verify that the bruises that are indeed healed, then sneezes as if in surprise. “Fast,” he comments, “Changing fast.”

“Maybe that’s why I feel so tired, huh?” Meis asks, already retreating into their cavern and sinking down into the cool stony floor. Gueira squeezes in beside him, circling a few times before he lies down on his stomach, one clawed hand tentatively pulling Meis towards him. It’s swelteringly hot, but Meis finds that he doesn’t mind, suddenly, nestling right into Gueira’s familiar heat with a soft smile.

“When I wake up,” Meis says, “I’m gonna be a Burnish, ain’t I?”

Gueira nods. “Guess so. That what you wanted?”

Meis smiles, squeezing Gueira’s clawed hand with his own, streaks of black now spreading up the length of his forearm from a hand turned to obsidian. “More than anythin’, Gueira.”

Gueira sighs in satisfaction, one tongue flicking out to kiss Meis’ cheek before he settles back down on the cavern floor. “Anything for you, beloved.”

* * *

Traveling with Galo is slower than Lio anticipated. It’s sunrise and they’re nowhere near the facility, the sun emerging from below the horizon and casting cruel hot rays down on them. Lio doesn’t mind it, but he knows that Galo’s tender human skin will burn in an instant if he isn’t careful, so he reluctantly makes the decision to stop and rest for a little while. Thyma will, unfortunately, have to wait.

Lio finds a waterhole and hunkers down for Galo to dismount. The man’s black tee shirt is stuck tight to his skin and his forehead is glistening wetly with sweat. He falls to his knees at the water’s edge and drinks, cupping murky stagnant water in both palms and bringing it to his lips again and again and again. Lio hunkers down beside him, lapping at the measly amount of water tentatively, but even after the night’s journey, he isn’t very thirsty. He backs away, leaving the water for his mate.

Galo drinks until he feels sick, then leans back on his elbows and basks in the miserable morning sunlight, the air already buzzing with heat. He dries his forehead on the back of one arm, then happens to glance down and notice something.

“Lio,” he says softly but urgently,  _ “Look.” _

Lio looks. There are footprints in the soft mud around the waterhole. One set is human, much smaller than Galo’s, with soles belonging to some brand of boot. The other set, however, is distinctly otherworldly, the foreprints not matching the hindprints, some having paw pads, the others bare.

“A Burnish…,” Lio muses in disbelief, sniffing at the prints to confirm it, “Yes, it’s a Burnish.”

The scent is tangy and musky and smells vaguely like burning sugar. It’s almost familiar.

Lio hunkers down. “C’mon, Galo,” he says in a tone that’s not to be disobeyed. Galo is on his back in an instant, and Lio is sprinting towards the source of the smell. 

* * *

The sun rises on Meis’ first day as a Burnish.

He stretches elaborately, arms over his head, the way he usually does when he wakes up - and realizes with a start that his arms have turned into scythes. He scrambles backwards in surprise, staring at the fingerless, knife-like limbs, and realizes with an even bigger start that there are also  _ four of them _ where he had only two the night before. He tries to stand and finds that he can’t, flailing uselessly on four forelimbs and two hindlimbs - at least his hindlimbs had the courtesy to form with teeny-tiny tarantula paws, each tipped in two curved little blue claws - before he falls flat on his abdomen with a disgruntled screech.

Gueira’s huge head appears in the entrance to the cavern, cooing soothingly as he creeps closer, crawling through the desert dust on his belly with his tail wagging sweetly behind him, making him look as small and unimposing as possible. Meis’ head swivels towards him, screeching unhappily as he tries and fails to stand again. It’s almost comical, how he tries to gather his too-many limbs underneath him and then goes sprawling, reminding him of the spotted fawn Bambi encountering ice for the first time in the Disney film. But, Gueira doesn’t laugh at him, cooing sweetly as he crawls closer and noses his head underneath Meis’, five tongues lapping at his neck gently.

Then, Gueira rumbles something at him in a language he doesn’t understand.

Meis tilts his elongated head to one side; he can see the pointed tip of his snout at the edge of his vision, finding his lower jaw to be a brilliant bright blue, curving sharply upward on either side at the end, flanking sharp bright yellow fangs. The rest of his snout is obsidian-black, the same as Gueira’s. “What?” he rumbles, privately surprised at just how hard it is for him to speak in this form. His vocal cords feel foreign and unfamiliar and he strains to get them to cooperate. No wonder Gueira’s speech is so broken in his true form.

Gueira sneezes. “Forgot you don’t know Burnish yet, beloved,” he obliges, “Sorry. I said, will help you. Don’t worry.”

“Burnish language?” Meis half-says, half-spits, sounding like he’s choking on every word. Gueira shushes him with a coo, slowly getting to his feet and bringing Meis with him, his huge head supporting Meis’ upper body as his scythe-legs flail for purchase on the canyon floor, eventually finding their balance. Gueira tentatively pulls his head away and Meis remains standing, although his limbs are all spread comically far apart and he’s as frozen in place as a deer caught in the headlights.

Gueira holds his head low, beside Meis’ new form, ready to catch him in an instant if he falls. “Steady,” he rumbles, as soothingly as he can make his deep heady voice, “Walk slow.”

Tentatively, Meis takes a step. Then, another and another and another, until he’s at the entrance to the cavern and stepping out into the suffocating morning sunlight. It’s so bright that he tries to squint and realizes that he can’t, feeling along his narrow face with one elongated forearm and promptly remembering that Burnish don’t have eyes when he feels none. He whines, the sunlight stinging his sensitive heat vision - which is a thing that he has now, apparently. He’s surprised at how vivid it is; he can see as clearly as his human eyes ever could, complete with colors and hues and textures, perhaps even better. Everything is just very slightly tinged yellow, the same color as the teeth he had glimpsed in his mouth earlier. 

When Meis seems stable, Gueira removes his head, to instead curve his neck around Meis’ and roll his five tongues along the side of his face smoothly. Meis grumbles at him, then realizes that Gueira is purring. He’s happy, and it makes something soft in Meis’ depths crumble with fondness for the big Burnish beast.

Meis realizes that he’s purring, too, vibrations emerging from the back of his throat. He hadn’t even realized he was making a sound until he heard it. Gueira’s bright green fangs upturn in a pleased grin, his tail wagging from side-to-side stiffly behind him. It makes Meis think to check his own tail, finding it to be much skinnier and thinner than Gueira’s, obsidian-black and whip-like, tipped with barbs resembling a spade. It would hurt if he whipped someone with it, he realizes, giving it an experimental sideways jerk. It hits the orangey earth with a crack, sending up a plume of dust, and he grins in delight. A snake-like split tongue slithers through the gaps in his bright yellow fangs, flicking tentatively along Gueira’s cheek.

His slit nostrils twitch, detecting signs of life nearby. A javelina, he thinks, and suddenly realizes that he’s very, very hungry.

Those two extra arms raise up over his back, hovering above his shoulder blades and curving up towards his skull when at rest. He wiggles them, testing their movement, then glances imploringly at Gueira as his stomach rumbles. “Hunt,” he manages in a broken, hoarse voice.

Gueira grins in delight, rearing up on his hindlimbs and then crashing back to earth with a bark. It’s the most excited display Meis has ever seen from him, and it makes him excited, too. For the first time, the two of them set off on a hunt together and Meis will actually be able to participate, rather than riding along uselessly on Gueira’s back while he does all the work. 

Javelina are plentiful in this part of the desert and it doesn’t take them long to find one. Gueira shows Meis how to use his nose, how to stop and sniff and search. The poor unfortunate peccary stands no chance against them, squealing in fear as Gueira sends a blast of fire in its direction, forming a fiery semicircle around it and blocking its only path for escape. Then, he steps back and nods to Meis, who moves in for the kill, surprisingly sure on his Burnish limbs already. But, once he has the javelina backed up against the wall of fire and squealing for its life, he realizes he has no idea what to do with it.

Puzzled, he looks to Gueira for advice.

Gueira huffs, then rears up on his hindlimbs and makes an almost comical flailing motion with his forelimbs. Meis has never seen him do  _ that  _ before, much less on a hunt, but eventually puts together that, while it would be pretty much useless with Gueira’s smaller claws and hand-like forelimbs, it’s more than effective for his scythe-like forearms, slitting the peccary’s throat with a single foreward thrust of his claw. It squeals, then cuts itself off in a gasping cough as it draws its last breath and crumbles to the ground before him. Meis looks back at Gueira, grinning proudly, as the wall of fire around them falls.

Gueira doesn’t even try to conceal his pride, walking towards Meis with his barrel chest puffed up proudly and his green fangs curled into a delighted grin. When he reaches Meis, he lowers his head to nuzzle him for a long, quiet moment, licking his snout sweetly, then sinks his snout lower to tear open the belly of Meis’ first kill, before stepping back in invitation. Meis should have found the offer disgusting, raw fresh innards spilling out onto the desert floor, but he can’t help but find the sight suddenly appetizing, sinking his snout into his meal with Gueira’s usual zeal, coming away with a mouthful of liver. Newfound instinct drives him on, until he’s ripped and torn at the carcass until almost nothing remains of its lower half, his hunger finally sated and blood dripping off his scythes and toothy jaws. Only then does he remember Gueira, stepping back to let him eat, too. 

Gueira steps forward, turns the carcass over, and promptly plucks its heart clean out of its chest with practiced precision. He lowers his head, offering it to Meis, who finds himself suddenly unable to resist. They bite into the juicy organ together, sending up a spray of blood as they each snap up half and swallow it whole. Afterward, Gueira returns to the carcass, stripping it clean with terrifying efficiency until only the bones remain. He starts to crack open the bones in his fearsome tough jaws, lapping up the marrow, and this time, when he offers one to Meis, his mate happily accepts. Only when Meis has already eaten the marrow out of several does Gueira nudge a bone towards him, then playfully snap it up in his jaws again, tugging it out of reach. Meis whines at him, scrambling after it, and thus begins a good-natured game of keep-away that Meis inevitably wins because Gueira is too soft for him to ever deny him anything he wants for long.

But, Meis lets the bone fall to the desert floor, abandoned, and nestles himself into Gueira’s broad chest instead. His pointed snout is perfect for nuzzles, his snake-like tongue flickering along Gueira’s bright red jaw sweetly as he whines up at him for attention that he clearly already has. Gueira grins down at him, giving him a playful shove with his head, then sets off running in the direction of the den, tail wagging behind him. Meis runs after him, his own tail whipping from side-to-side, bellowing as he playfully chases after his mate.

Meis chases him all the way back to the den, where Gueira promptly stops, wheels around, and rears up on his hind limbs, tackling Meis to the canyon floor with a playful growl. Meis squawks at him, two sets of forelimbs flailing in displeasure at being turned onto his back, but Gueira only rumbles with laughter, pinning him down with one giant forearm on either side of his slender black body, five tongues lolling along Meis’ maw, neck, chest, stomach…

Meis jolts when he feels Gueira’s tongues between his legs, lapping tenderly at the little slit that lies between his hind limbs. He rumbles in confusion, but Gueira only coos reassuringly, the largest of his tongues slipping past the outer lips and into the warm, wet confines of Meis’ slit. The unexpected pleasure of it makes Meis shiver, two of his scythes scratching futilely at the hot dry desert air as Gueira laps at it, until his cock finally emerges with a wet  _ schlop! _

Meis glances down at himself, out of curiosity, and starts for what feels like the hundredth time that morning.

He doesn’t have  _ a  _ dick.

He has  _ two  _ dicks.

He has two slender, ridged, bright blue cock shafts, stacked one on top of the other, each tapering into a slender tip that’s presently drooling pre in great big droplets of off-white. The lower one is much larger and thicker, with a bulbous knot already swollen at its base, feeling uncomfortably tight and needy, while the upper one is more slender and much shorter. But, Gueira doesn’t seem surprised at the sight at all, five hot, wet tongues immediately wrapping around Meis’ twin cocks and slurping noisily, sending hot shocks of pleasure up Meis’ spine as Gueira happily services him. Gueira is anything but discreet, slurping loudly as he slobbers like an animal, like Meis is the most delicious thing he’s ever wrapped his drooly maw around. The thought itself makes Meis’ head swim and, combined with the newness of this body and how intensely  _ good  _ the new sensations are, he comes undone in no time, shooting a hot stream of come directly into Gueira’s waiting maw. Gueira laps him clean eagerly, panting softly between his legs for a moment before he finally gets to his feet, giving Meis room to stand - not that he can, not after the amazing orgasm Gueira just gave him.

After a moment, Gueira nudges him. Meis huffs. 

Eventually, Meis stands back up and shakes himself, feeling the wet slap of his twin cocks against his underbelly and realizing that they haven’t withdrawn back into their slit, his swollen knot preventing them from retracting. He huffs in embarrassment, looking to Gueira for help, but the other Burnish only grins even wider than usual, turning around to present his rump with his tail lifted high, going so far as to give it a suggestive shake that, while cute on a human, looks stupidly silly on a monster his size. Meis chortles, but obliges him, Gueira hunkering down so he can reach as he mounts him, mindful of where he places his scythes and how much pressure he applies with them, holding onto Gueira’s hindquarters only very gently to prevent cutting him.

Meis thrusts and Gueira swallows up both of his cocks with relative ease, in part because of the significant size difference between them and in part because of how sloppy-wet he is with arousal. Gueira growls happily as Meis sinks into him, wobbling precariously on his tiny tarantula feet of hind limbs as he tries to balance while thrusting in and out of Gueira, eventually settling on a good pace that won’t knock him off-balance on his new legs.

“Harder,” Gueira huffs, his trail draping around Meis’ waist to encourage him.

Meis obliges, picking up the pace. Gueira starts to thrust back against him, whimpering oh-so-sweetly, meeting him halfway with the wet smack of their bodies meeting. Each thrust sends Gueira’s own cock slapping wetly against his underbelly, until it’s dripping pre like a leaky faucet and swollen hard and tight with arousal. Gueira comes with a veritable roar that nearly puts Meis’ sensitive ears out, yelping as shot after shot of thick creamy come erupts from his bright red cock, gradually slowing to a drip as Meis fucks him through his release, until his own knot starts to feel so tight with arousal that he squeezes it into Gueira’s ass and comes undone himself, surprised at the intensity of it and just how much he comes after having already done so twenty minutes prior. 

The two of them stand there, panting and dripping in the morning sunlight, and relish in each other’s familiar heat. Meis tries to tug his cock out of Gueira and promptly realizes that he can’t, stuck tight by his traitorous knot.

“Hold still,” Gueira gripes, “Enjoy it.”

Meis sighs, though only in contentment, and rests his chin on Gueira’s back, listening to the crackle and roar of the fire inside him as he savors the intimacy of this moment, being stuck tight to his mate while he pants and sighs underneath him. This must be foolish of them, he thinks to himself, letting themselves get stuck together like this, out in the open, when they know Foresight’s people will be on the lookout for them and could spot them like this and capture them easily. But, in that moment, when he hears the roar of the fire in his own heart now and feels it calling out to the flames that burn inside of Gueira, sated only in each other, he can’t find himself to care.

“Love you,” Meis rumbles into the sweltering desert air. 

Gueira purrs, flicking his tail up to envelope Meis’ waistline. “Love you, too, beloved.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler Alert: Gueira zoomies.

Now that Meis is Burnish, the suffocating desert heat is only pleasantly warm. It feels like the place he’s always belonged in, tucked underneath Gueira’s chin as he lazily naps away his first afternoon as a Burnish after their romp, purring softly in his sleep as Gueira gently laps along the base of his one curving cyan horn with five ruby-red tongues. Meis has never  _ belonged  _ anywhere before.

He awakens as the sun sets, streaking a bright blue sky with hues of orange and yellow and pink as it drowns beneath the horizon. He stretches, tiny tarantula toes spreading apart on his hind limbs and scythes hoisted high over his head at his front, then settles back down, nestling ever closer to Gueira - who sighs contently and gives his mate’s neck another loving lick. 

The peaceful scene is shattered when Meis sneezes and blasts fire out both slit nostrils, hiccuping up a cloud of smoke. Gueira erupts into hyena laughter and Meis answers with an indignant squawk.

“Need to burn,” Gueira informs him, getting to his feet. Even now that both of them are Burnish, he towers over Meis, a full head taller than him on all fours. Whereas Meis is only the size of a small donkey, Gueira is every bit as big as a purebred Clydesdale horse and then some, made even taller by the curving red horns atop his head and the tall black scutes sprouting along the length of his back, swathed in smoke as Gueira’s jaws part around a surge of blood-red flame. He spouts fire into the open air only briefly, then stops and looks down at Meis expectantly. 

Meis stares at him eyelessly, uncomprehendingly.

“You have to burn,” Gueira tells him, “Fire has to come out sometimes. Learn to use it. Will need it to save Thyma.”

Meis considers it, thinking deeply as he listens to the ripple and roar of the fire within him. He knows it’s there - he can hear it, smell it,  _ feel  _ it - but he isn’t sure how to access it. Thus far, he’s only brought it up from his depths three times, twice when he sneezed and once when Gueira playfully pounced on him and startled him badly enough that it came up with a yelping bark. He tries it now, pushing with his gut muscles, trying to urge the flames up his throat and out his mouth. He feels like he might throw up instead, so he stops.

Gueira nuzzles him gently. “Good try,” he says softly, encouragingly, in that gravely growl of a voice he has, “Don’t think. Feel.”

The instructions are vague at best, but Meis gives it another go.

He burps up a pathetic spark of flame that dwindles and dies the instant it leaves his tongue. It’s a pitiful display compared to the smoldering pyres Gueira can light at will, but Gueira whoops in excitement at it nonetheless, shuffling delightedly on all fours in a way that makes it look like he’s dancing or jogging in place. His excitement is exactly the spark that Meis needs, catching contagiously, and he gives a laughing bark that comes up with a burst of fire and a cloud of smoke. It scorches up his throat painlessly, to seethe between his wickedly sharp teeth in streams of steely blue. He gives a roar and sends fire sparking across the canyon floor, catching on nothing but sand and a few bristly weeds, instantly burnt to blackened crisps and crumbling to ashes against the earth. 

Meis coughs up the last of the smoke, then wheels his head in Gueira’s direction. Gueira grins wider than usual, tail thumping against the dusty dirt in resounding approval, then bends down to give Meis a nuzzle with his snout, chest puffing up with pride. 

“Good job,” Gueira rumbles, a single tongue flicking out of his mouth to give Meis’ face a lick, finding the skin to be warmer than usual, “Show you how to turn back human now.”

“Don’t want to,” Meis grumbles, finding that he would rather be a badass alien monster with swords for arms that could start fires with his mind than a boring old human anyday. He’s more sure of his voice now, but it’s still nearly incoherent with how gravely and deep it is. 

Gueira steps back, letting ruby-red flames envelop him from the bottoms of his feet up to the tips of his horns. It burns him to ashes, then rebuilds him anew, this time in the form of a handsome late-twenty-something with reddish hair and amber eyes and a scar across the bridge of his nose - and a pair of plump, kissable lips twisted into an impish grin that’s just begging for Meis to take a taste.

Meis is suddenly convinced. “Show me.”

Gueira reaches for his head, cupping it gently in his soft human hands - which still harbor the blazing inner warmth of a Burnish despite their tender new form. “This might be a little scary your first time, beloved,” he tells him, “Think about the form you want to take. Ask the fire to give it back to you.”

“Ask it?” Meis rumbles in confusion, tilting his elongated head to one side.

Nodding, Gueira says, “You were human once before. The fire will remember. You don’t need the blood of a human. You already  _ are  _ human - or at least, you were. Your fire already has everything it needs.”

Meis thinks about it, then remembers that thinking about it didn’t give him the results he wanted before.  _ Feel  _ it, Gueira had told him. What had he  _ felt  _ a moment before that let him really and truly catch fire for the first time?

He remembers Gueira’s excited display, the way his barrel chest had puffed up with pride at Meis’ first real flare-up. His vision flickers down to Gueira’s face now, to the way that pinkish little scar furrows the bridge of his nose, the way his chapped lips flicker up at the edges in a knowing smile, the way short bristles of hair grow around his mouth and jawline. His gaze eventually settles on Gueira’s eyes - deep, rich amber, the color of fresh sap as it oozes down tree bark lit with evening summer sunlight, flecked with hues of red like his fire. Those eyes stare back at him with a smile and, in them, Meis finds himself.

Steely blue flames flicker up the length of his limbs, devouring his Burnish body and sending it crumbling to ashes. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like much of anything at all, as the flames rebuild him from the ground-up, this time in the form of a man - a stark naked man, because whatever had remained of his clothing had shredded off of him when he first transformed in his sleep, and had since fallen victim to a good-natured game of tug-o-war with Gueira. But, he doesn’t mind, bare skin warm with the desert heat and his own fire as he closes the distance between him and his mate, cupping his face and kissing him gently.

Gueira is smiling when they part. “That’s what does it for me, too,” he says, with a hint of a tease in his voice, “Knowing that I’ll have human lips to kiss you with if I turn.”

“Ya got no business bein’ this damn pretty, y’know,” Meis teases right back, “It’s enough to make anybody wanna kiss ya.”

Gueira smiles, pressing another kiss to Meis’ lips. They’re slightly chapped now, from days spent in the desert with little water and none of his usual moisturizers or chapsticks. His heart pangs for his mate for a moment, realizing that he’ll never know the luxury of those simple things ever again. But, his concern is short-lived, when his mate silences the thought with another tender kiss.

This time, when Meis parts, he asks a question, “When ya ask somethin’, the flames listen?”

“The fire is your friend,” Gueira says, “The flames are alive, beloved. They would do anything to protect you, anything you ask, so long as it’s within their power. Give them the blueprint for any living creature and they’ll give you its body for a time. They’ll even heal you should you lose a limb, or an organ, or anything short of your heart or brain.” 

“The flames are alive…,” Meis drawls, listening a little more intently to the roar of them inside him now. He wonders if he’s just imagining their flicker of acknowledgement or if it’s really there. 

He doesn’t have time to linger on it for long, because Gueira is suddenly scooping him up in his arms and giving him a playful twirl, laughing a little too cheerfully for someone in their situation. It’s easy to forget, when they’re like this, that there’s anything wrong in the world at all, but there is. Thyma still needs them. And Meis still wants his revenge.

But right now, Gueira is twirling him and kissing him and breathing tongues of blood-red flame directly into his open mouth. Meis responds in turn, blue fire surging up his throat to burn violet in-between them, scorching their lips painlessly. Meis’ fire is fresh and new. Gueira’s holds a wisdom he doesn’t have yet. They smolder together for awhile, ‘til fire licks up Gueira’s strong bare legs and turns him back into a Burnish. Meis sees no choice but to follow suit, an extra set of arms springing forth from his shoulder blades as he sheds his human skin to walk as a monster instead, smoking from his maw as he puts out his flames.

Gueira wags his tail, giving Meis a playful shove, then surges off into the desert around them. Meis bellows wordlessly and chases after him, sending up plumes of sand with every step. They chase each other in circles, Gueira slow and cumbersome while Meis is lithe and swift, darting between his legs and nearly tripping him up once or twice. Gueira nips at him playfully, then bolts off for the upper rim of the canyon, galloping out of their secret gulley with a joyous belt of doggish laughter. Meis races after him, discovering that he’s a very good climber in this form, easily scaling rocky canyon walls to catch up with Gueira.

Only when they’ve crested the clifftops together does Gueira throw his head back and start to howl. Meis shushes him, panicking briefly, until he realizes that, up here, they can see for miles around, empty desert stretching in every direction. If danger was near, they would have seen it by now. They’re safe - for now.

Reassured, Meis throws his head back and answers Gueira’s howl.

It’s far from the elegant, harmonic howl of wolves, but the garbled, strangled song of monsters, stretching across the endless miles of empty desert in a screech of nothing but chaos. Meis thinks some unfortunate animals struck by vehicles have probably made prettier sounds than he’s making right now, but he also thinks that, in a way, this suits them. He thinks back to those first few nights on the farm when he had heard Gueira’s ear-splitting howls trembling across the fields and sending the livestock into a panicked frenzy. How different that same howl sounds to him now, inspiring only comfort as it vibrates off the cliffs beside him, deeper and throatier than his own cry.

Then, a third voice joins them. 

Meis doesn’t notice it at first, yowling across the canyon below until he realizes that Gueira has silenced. He quietens, glancing at his mate questioningly. Gueira has perked up visibly, listening intently. At first, there’s nothing but the sound of the desert sizzling with the midday heat, sounding every bit like cicadas. Then, it comes again, a warbling cry like theirs, drifting across the empty dunes towards them.

Gueira shuffles on all fours, again giving Meis the impression that he’s dancing excitedly in place, and chuffs out a hot breath of smoke. Then, he rears up on his hindlimbs, throws his head back, and answers with more enthusiasm than Meis has ever heard out of him - which is saying something, considering Gueira had once eaten the entire paper McDonald’s bag in his excitement over a Big Mac, wrapper and condiment packets included.

The other howl answers him and, chuffing excitedly, Gueira gives Meis a sharp nudge with his head, then barrels off in the direction of the cry. Confused, Meis can only follow him, galloping after him as Gueira bolts off at full-tilt, kicking up plumes of dust and sand and sparking with excited flame as he descends the canyon walls, back down into the gulley with Meis scampering along behind him.

There, another Burnish waits for them.

He’s sleek, tall, and obsidian black - all well-muscled, long, lithe limbs and slender body and strong tail. Unlike Gueira or Meis, he has fur, although exceedingly little, in a sparse mane of blondish-green that runs from the back of his skull down to the base of his tail, where it lengthens into flowing silky fur hanging off its tip. He’s obsidian black from head-to-toe, except the greenish-white claws on his forelimbs, his wickedly sharp grin full of teeth, which extends directly into two towering white horns with a third sprouting from his crown, and a sharp streak of glowering white across his slender chest. When the sunlight strikes him a certain way, his body seems multifaceted like the surface of a diamond, highlighted in magenta and cyan in places where it otherwise appears stark black. His hindlimbs are sharp and scythe-like, almost like Meis’ forelimbs, but he moves on them with an otherworldly elegance that Meis distinctly lacks. Whereas Gueira exudes strength and power, this creature exudes elegance and knowledge, gazing at them eyelessly with a sense of wisdom that Meis can only wish he had. Something about him feels powerful, something that makes Meis instinctively want to cower.

Gueira has no such reservations. 

He collides with the other Burnish full-force, bowling them both over and sending them into a sideways flurry of legs, tails, and horns, clouds of dust stirring up around them as his tail slaps against the canyon floor excitedly. Five tongues threaten to suffocate the other Burnish as Gueira pins him down and licks his face, his chin, his neck, anything he can reach. The other Burnish seems eerily resigned to his fate, barely tolerating Gueira’s onslaught before he gives him a soft urgent growl. Gueira backs off in an instant, standing shock-still except for his rapidly wagging tail, sending up more plumes of desert dust, and lets the other Burnish stand and shake himself off. He looks a little less elegant now, mane of fur thoroughly mussed and one bit stuck straight up with Gueira’s sticky saliva, but still commands an air of respect, giving Gueira a slyly good-natured flick with his fluffy tail. This seems to set Gueira off all over again and he shoots off around them, wheeling around the stranger in great big crazy circles, bouncing here, there, and everywhere, occasionally landing in a playful bow in front of the other Burnish with his tail wagging like the blades of a helicopter behind him. Just when Meis thinks he’s going to calm down for a moment, Gueira is off again, zooming in even bigger circles, eventually bowling the other Burnish over to lick his face all over again.

It must be exciting, meeting another Burnish after so long on his own, but there’s something greater to the way Gueira nuzzles and licks and outright  _ attacks  _ the newcomer with affection, while his tail sends up clouds of dust so high that they may very well blot out the sun. Meis doesn’t have to guess twice to know that this must be Lio.

Lio finally has enough of Gueira’s antics, swatting his ankles with his whip-like tail just hard enough to trip the blubbering beast up, sending Gueira tipping comically forward before he crashes to the ground on his belly. He takes absolutely no offense to it, tail still wagging furiously as he gazes up at the other Burnish and pants excitedly.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Gueira,” Lio says - in a voice that Meis finds alarmingly clear and concise, especially after struggling to speak in his Burnish form himself, “I’m glad to see you alive and well, too.” He dips down and gives Gueira’s forehead a tiny lick with three shiny green tongues that seem almost iridescent in the sunlight. “I thought the whitecoats killed you.”

“Thought they killed you,” Gueira echoes the sentiment.

“Unfortunately for them, so did they,” Lio snarks, “We’ve no time to celebrate, not now. Thyma is alive and Foresight’s people have her. I’m going after her.”

“I know,” Gueira rumbles, his voice almost incoherent next to Lio’s, “Me, too.”

Meis remains motionless and still, until Gueira retreats to his side to nose him forward. Lio perks up visibly, his lithe tail rising warily behind him.

“I don’t recognize this one,” Lio says, slit nostrils fluttering curiously, “Who is this? Not one of our old pack members, that’s for sure.”

Gueira’s chin thumps down on Meis’ head, his tail still wagging yet. “My mate, Meis,” he says, broad chest puffing up with pride in a way that would make Meis blush if he could, “A human. Turned him Burnish. Best mate.”

Lio tilts his head to one side, then the other. He leans in almost uncomfortably close and sniffs Meis’ snout, then leans back and nods to himself. “He hasn’t been Burnish very long, has he? He doesn’t know how to greet me.”

Gueira shakes his head, then lowers his snout to Lio’s, echoing his display of sniffing first one side of his head, then the other. It’s hard to tell in the blinding midday light, but their horns flash a subtle glowing pattern as they greet each other. Meis watches, but when it’s his turn to try it, he can’t get his horn to flash on command the way the others do. Gueira gives him an encouraging bat with his head. “Good try, beloved,” he reassures him.

Lio unexpectedly turns on his heel, like he means to leave, glancing back at them over his shoulder. “I’m afraid he can’t be the best mate, Gueira,” he remarks, and Gueira puffs up with a comically defensive growl in an instant, “That title already belongs to mine.”

Gueira deflates in surprise. Lio utters a short, soft cry and a man emerges from the same small cavern in the canyon wall where Meis and Gueira had spent the last few nights, hands held up in a clear gesture of surrender as he approached. The first thing Meis notices about him is his shock of glaringly bright blue hair, second only to the brightness of his smile when Lio wraps his long flexible neck around his shoulders and gives him an adoring purr, three green tongues flicking out between his fangs to lap sweetly at his cheek. It actually makes Galo blush and laugh a little nervously, watching them closely out of the corner of his eye even as Lio dotes on him.

“A human,” Gueira utters in surprise.

Lio’s head snaps up. “Yes, what of it? Your mate was also a human, until you turned him into a Burnish. That isn’t a decision that Galo is ready to make.”

Gueira’s tail droops, and Meis doesn’t miss how it almost flickers between his legs at Lio’s defensiveness. “Nothing,” he says quickly, “Just thought you hated humans. Because of whitecoats.”

Lio softens, considering it, then speaks again, “Humans can be selfish and cruel, that much is true. But, if even one Galo Thymos exists in this world...then not all humans are bad.”

Gueira’s tail thumps in approval, his confidence returning. Lio nudges the human man towards him and, a little reluctantly, he lifts a hand to stroke the side of Gueira’s snout. “Hey there, nice to meet you,” he says conversationally, if not a little awkwardly, “I’m Galo! Galo Thymos! Your name’s Gueira, right? Wow. You’re like...really big, bud. Cool horns!”

“Cool hair,” Gueira rumbles good-naturedly, ruffling it with a huff of hot air that makes Galo jump, “Don’t worry. Won’t hurt you. Part of pack.”

Galo breaks out in a grin so wide that it must hurt his cheeks. “Really, me? A part of your pack? Or is it Lio’s pack?” 

Lio answers for him, “We were part of the pack Fotia, before Foresight’s whitecoats massacred most of our people. Gueira, Thyma, and I are the only remaining survivors, at least that we know of. After the past few days, I’m beginning to question everything I thought I knew about Foresight and his facility.”

Meis pipes up, “Was there. Few days ago. No more Burnish, only Thyma.”

“You’re sure?” Lio prompts.

Meis nods quickly.

Lio doesn’t even try to conceal his disappointment. “Then, we can only hope that someone else managed to escape and is still out there. For now, we focus our efforts on Thyma,” he says, then his attention flickers to Meis, “You said you were just in the facility a few days ago?”

Meis nods again.

“Galo was there about a week and a half ago,” Lio says, “Thyma helped him escape. Kray Foresight is his father and, when Galo found out about us Burnish, he tried to use Thyma to dispose of him.” 

“Foster father,” Galo corrects quickly, “ _ Estranged  _ foster father.”

Lio’s attention flickers to him for a moment with a sense of sadness, then returns to Meis. “When you were there, was Thyma alright? Did they hurt her for helping Galo escape?”

“She’s okay,” Meis manages, though the apostrophe-S comes out as a strangled hiss, “Put a collar on ‘er.” Even in this form, his accent comes out a bit sometimes, concealed beneath layers of gravel and growl. 

Lio stiffens. “One of the ice collars. Those were in early development when Gueira and I escaped. Awful things. They prevent us from using our flames and cause a great deal of pain if we try to catch fire while wearing them.”

Meis droops visibly at the thought. Galo frowns, too, scratching a nonexistent itch at the back of his neck. Clearly, he blames himself, but Lio shoos the thought away with a nuzzle, resting his head on Galo’s shoulder with a soft rumble of reassurance. Galo lifts a hand to stroke his cheek.

“But she wasn’t hurt?” Lio asks again.

Meis remembers dirty gauze coiling around Thyma’s forelimbs and haunches, enveloping most of her midsection and parts of her head. “Had bandages all over.”

Galo pipes up, “She was like that when I was there, too. I saw underneath ‘em, but only for a minute. She had like...a ton of holes in her arms. Like someone inserted an IV into her over and over again.”

Lio nods. “That’s likely the case, I’m afraid. Burnish were often sedated with IV solutions while Dr. Heris carried out her experiments. Now that Thyma’s her only remaining subject, she must be sedating and injecting her multiple times a day.”

“We should hurry,” Galo says impatiently.

“We will,” Lio shushes him, “But we can’t just rush in, kitten.”

“No,” Gueira huffs, “We should.”

Lio looks at him. Even without eyes, he manages to look incredulous. 

“Rush in,” Gueira says, “Get caught on purpose.”

Lio’s expression softens with consideration.

“Once inside, attack whitecoats, free Thyma,” Gueira says.

“Yes, but how would we get back  _ out  _ once we were in?” Lio asks, “We need an escape plan, too, Gueira.”

Beside Lio, Galo suddenly perks up, fishing around in the front pocket of his backpack and procuring energy bar wrappers, empty water bottles, a set of car keys, and finally - his Foresight Pharmaceuticals ID badge from almost two weeks before, still dangling on its branded lanyard. “Bet it still works!” he exclaims excitedly, “If I can unlock the doors, I can sneak in while you guys distract the staff and let you out!”

Lio considers it. “It could work, but it’s risky. We’ve seen what Foresight’s people are capable of and, if we’re all cornered, we wouldn’t stand much of a chance, not even in a group. None of us are any good if we’re frozen solid.”

Meis shudders at the thought, remembering the bitter chill of the cell he had been locked in with Thyma. Gueira looks down at him and Meis sees a thought flicker across his face.

“Whitecoats don’t know Meis is Burnish now,” he says, “We get caught on purpose. Meis and Galo come later. Catch whitecoats by surprise.”

Lio nods along in thought. “It’s still such a slim chance that we escape with everyone intact that I’m hardly comfortable with it, Gueira.”

Gueira huffs at him indignantly. “Got better plan, boss?”

Lio swats him with his tail, but only good-naturedly, the silky fur on its tip tickling Gueira’s snout and making him sneeze. He sits in silence for a moment, considering it deeply, then suddenly lifts his head in realization. “Galo.”

“Yeah?”

“Dr. Heris. You know her sister.”

Galo nods. “Aina. She’s a friend of mine. You remember her, that night I found you?”

Lio’s head rises and falls in a nod. “I do, but that’s not what’s important. I think we should head back into the city to decide on a more solid plan. And while we’re there, let’s pay your friend Aina a visit, why don’t we?” 

Galo frowns slightly. It looks off on him, like he’s spent very little time in his life frowning and doing so inspires some small degree of pain. “But, Aina doesn’t know anything about what Heris is doing. She doesn’t even know about the Burnish, except for you. And even then, she doesn’t know much.”

“You said Aina was a kind person, though,” Lio says, “and that she wouldn’t appreciate what her sister has done to the Burnish. If that’s true, then maybe we should enlighten her. And then perhaps she’ll want to have a word with Dr. Heris. I never believed her to be a really and truly cruel person, Foresight just convinced her to only see what he wanted her to. If you think of something as less than human, it’s easier to justify the use of its life. Perhaps Aina can convince her otherwise, or at least distract her long enough to help us.”

Galo hesitates. Lio presses his snout into the nape of his neck. “It’s your call, kitten,” he says, “If you think Aina is better off not knowing, then I’ll more than respect your choice.”

“What Aina doesn’t know can’t hurt her, but…,” Galo muses, thinking back to their earlier conversation on the subject, “What I didn’t know  _ did  _ hurt me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with the guilt of being Kray’s son - foster son,  _ estranged  _ foster son - now that I know what he did to the Burnish. What he did to  _ you _ , Lio. All those years, I didn’t know, and I could have been helping you or helping Thyma.”

“Galo,” Lio interrupts him sternly, pressing his forehead to his mate’s, “You can’t blame yourself for Kray’s actions. You  _ won’t.  _ Understood?”

Galo quietens, then reluctantly nods. “Aina has no idea what Heris is doing. Maybe she deserves to know. Maybe...she would want the chance to step in and stop it. Aina didn’t know what you were, that night she met you, but she still helped you. She even asked about you later, and a few times after that when I told her you had stuck around. I don’t think she would want to watch you or Thyma or any of the Burnish suffer.”

Lio nods, hunkering down for Galo to mount him. Galo throws a leg over his back and steadies himself on his shoulders, then Lio rises back to his full height, tail swaying behind him and his bright white horns gleaming in the sunlight.

“Then, let’s go have a word with her, shall we?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Aina joins the party!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays on this chapter, I've been in a bad mental state for the past few weeks and it's really caught up with me recently. :( I'm not a big fan of this chapter, but I'm looking forward to what happens in the next one!

One of the first things Galo did when he realized that a life with Lio meant a life on the run was have his mate incinerate his smartphone, so it couldn’t be tracked or recovered. It was now a melted lump of hardened sludge somewhere outside Promepolis. So, with no other options, Galo reluctantly leaves Gueira and Meis behind in the relative safety of the wastes and rides Lio closer to the city outskirts, where he eventually leaves him behind as well. The walk to even the closest convenience store is still a long one this close to the desert, and it’s well past moonrise when he finally stumbles into its halo of iridescent light. 

There’s enough cash left in his wallet to buy a case of water and two candy bars. He immediately sits down on the curb outside and eats one to sate the creeping hunger prowling in his depths, chasing it with first one room-temperature bottle of water, then another. When he feels like his throat is wet enough for him to speak coherently again, he ventures over to the payphone, pops in his last few quarters, and dials Aina’s number.

It rings.

Please pick up, he thinks. He glances at the moon hanging high in the sky behind him. It’s late, she might be asleep, she might even be at the station, but he’s pretty sure it’s a Saturday night and Aina never works Saturday nights and - 

“Hello?” a groggy voice speaks.

“Aina!” Galo belts into the receiver, a little too excitedly.

He hears her wake up in an instant. “Galo? Galo, where have you  _ been?! _ The whole city’s looking for you, I’ve been freaking out! You just disappeared and then this report aired on the news about the cops finding a dead body in your apartment and Kray has been advising everyone to be on the lookout because you might be a serial killer and - what  _ happened _ , Galo?”

Oh, good. It wasn’t enough for Kray to lock him in a cell with a Burnish he believed to be bloodthirsty and leave him for dead, he had to ruin his good name, too. Not that he would ever use it again, he thinks with a sharp pang, but still...it hurts. “Aina, listen closely,” Galo says, voice hushed now, unusual for him, “Are you alone?”

“Of course I’m alone, Galo, I’m the only one who lives here,” Aina retorts, “Now, explain yourself. What the fuck happened, dude?”

“It’s Kray,” Galo says quickly, quietly, glancing nervously over his shoulder even though no one else is around at this hour, “You remember Lio? The dog I hit?”

“You mean the  _ fire-breathing, shape-shifting monster  _ you hit? Yeah, of fuckin’ course I do, idiot!” Aina whisper-shouts through the receiver. 

“Don’t be mean,” Galo finds time to pout through his urgency, before he continues, “Listen, Aina, Lio isn’t the only one. There are other Burnish, I’ve met them! And there used to be a lot more of ‘em, too, but Kray’s been keeping them locked up in this secret facility out in the wastes to use for experiments. I know because I’ve been there!”

Aina is quiet for a moment. When she answers, she somehow sounds more tired, “There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence, Galo.”

“Aina, Kray has been  _ murdering  _ Lio’s people for years! There are only a few of them left now!” Galo exclaims, then heaves a sigh, “Listen, it’s not safe for us to talk here, but I need your help. Like, really really need your help. Are you in or not?”

Aina doesn’t hesitate. “You know I’m always down for a good time, idiot.”

Galo exhales in relief. “Okay, so I need you to meet me tomorrow morning, at our favorite weekend getaway. You know what I mean, right?”

“I do,” Aina says, “I don’t know what’s going on, Galo, or what trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, but I’ve got your back. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Aina,” Galo says, then hangs up without another word. He doesn’t know how payphones work, has never even used one before now, but he isn’t sticking around to find out if someone in the right kind of power could listen to their call. 

He hangs up the receiver and turns back towards the desert.

* * *

An early morning fog has settled over the mountain lakeside by the time Aina arrives, the decrepit old motorcycle she always drives audible over the birdsong and Gueira’s rumbling snores long before it’s visible.

Galo sits awake in the curl of Lio’s sleek black body, blue eyes bleary and bloodshot from getting not a wink of sleep the entire night, only dimly processing that the approaching roaring rumble of a sound is Aina’s bike. The morning brings the eerily peaceful scene of the sun emerging from beneath the horizon, streaking the night sky silvery with light and casting the treetops in a warm golden hue, the water of the lake rippling faintly as the forest starts to come to life, insects humming, birds chirping, the muscles of Lio’s thighs twitching to life as the approaching motorcycle wakes him. He lifts his head as he stirs, three tongues flickering between his fangs to taste the air, bringing the distant tang of gasoline into his mouth. He relaxes when he realizes that it’s only Aina, familiar strawberry-blonde hair dyed bubblegum pink everywhere but the roots spilling out from underneath a sleek silver helmet that contrasts starkly with her “vintage” motorcycle, his jaws stretching in a toothy yawn before he lays his head back down to regard her eyelessly but calmly.

Aina’s boots crunch through the undergrowth as she approaches, helmet tucked under one arm. Beside Galo and Lio, Gueira comes awake with a snort, instantly growling, and Aina gasps sharply in surprise.

“There are more of them!” she exclaims right away, her free hand lifted in a clear gesture of surrender. 

Lio lifts his head and chuffs. Gueira silences, Meis slowly coming awake in the curl of his body, where he had been sleeping with his scythes curled over his head like a praying mantis. He’s unbothered by Aina’s sudden presence, grumbling faintly as he nestles back into Gueira’s fiery-warm body to resume his slumber.

“This is Gueira,” Galo says conversationally, oddly casual, gesturing to the black-and-red Burnish. Gueira lifts his huge head, flashing Aina a forever-grinning mouthful of teeth curled up into a terrifying green smile; Meis grumbles again at his movement, one scythe idly reaching for his snout to gently guide it back down. “The smaller one is Meis. And you’ve already met Lio, of course!”

“Aina,” Lio says as plainly as a human would, “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Galo might have sat awake and alert the entire night, but it’s Aina who manages to look the most tired between them. “Galo, what’s going on? What the hell did you do?”

“Oh, not much,” Galo remarks, with one of his sunshine-shaming grins, scratching at an itch on the back of his neck that doesn’t exist, “Kray’s just trying to kill us.”

Aina stares wordlessly. Galo pats the place beside him, offering her refuge from the early morning chill in the curl of Lio’s very warm body. 

Aina hesitates for a moment, then sits.

“Okay,” she says, rubbing her temples, “Talk.”

Galo tells her everything - Kray, Foresight Pharmaceuticals, the Burnish, Lio, Thyma, Heris Ardebit. Lio chimes in periodically; Galo might be the more entertaining storyteller between them, but Lio is more factual, more prompt, more urgent. Aina seems sympathetic enough; her face twists in distaste whenever Thyma and her suffering in particular are mentioned, but she gives a sharp gasp and starts to protest when Galo suggests that her sister is involved.

“Heris wouldn’t,” Aina objects.

“Heris already has, Aina,” Galo says, his eyes gentle as he watches Aina’s expression shift from sympathetic to crestfallen and sad, eyebrows drawn tightly together as two halves of her mind visibly wage war with one another, “I’m sorry. You didn’t know.”

“Heris...works for the government,” Aina says numbly.

“She does,” Galo agrees with a nod, a gentle hand on her shoulder squeezing her reassuringly, “So does Kray. They work together. Kray is Heris’ boss. Neither of us knew what they were really doing, Aina, but now that we do...I think we have a responsibility to stop it. There are only four Burnish left in the entire world, and one of them wasn’t even Burnish until a day ago. Don’t you want to save them?”

Aina looks at him, gaze unpromisingly steely. “I want proof.”

Galo scoffs at her disbelievingly. “Aina, why would I lie to you? Aren’t the three of them proof enough?” he snarks, gesturing vaguely to the Burnish laying around them. Meis is awake now, his angular chin rested on Gueira’s rump.

“No, kitten, if proof is what she wants, then proof is what she’ll get,” Lio interrupts, getting to his feet now, “It’s a day’s travel from here, Aina, but if you will...I would like to show you the facility where Dr. Heris and Kray kept us.”

“You can’t say no,” Galo adds quickly, “Cuz I know this is your weekend off.”

Aina considers it, her expression softening with thought as she worries at a chapped lower lip. 

“Aina,” Lio pleads, “My people are dying.”

Sighing, Aina nods. “Okay, fine. I have nothing better to do on my weekend off than follow you and a bunch of fire-breathing monsters into the desert - with no food, water, or equipment, might I add - to see some top-secret government lab where my sister supposedly works.”

Grinning, Galo pumps a fist into the air. “Yes! Aina joins the party!”

“Thank you, Aina,” Lio adds politely, “We appreciate your help. And you can always back out if this is too overwhelming for -”

“You can always back out if you’re a chicken,” Galo interrupts him, waggling his arms like wings and doing his best impression of a chicken call. 

Aina frowns at him. “Have you ever been serious even once in your life?”

“Sometimes,” Galo says, grinning cheekily, “but not often.”

“We should move,” Lio interjects before Aina can say more, his eyeless gaze watching something far away, “Thyma can’t wait.”

“Right,” Gueira chuffs. He waits for Meis to stand - still slightly shaky on his newfound legs - before getting to his feet himself, giving himself a shake that sends saliva flying. Aina throws an arm up to protest herself from the sudden rain with an exclamation of “hey!” 

“Burnish are faster than humans,” Lio comments, stooping down, “We’ll only make it by moonrise if you ride us. Gueira, take Aina. Meis isn’t ready to carry a passenger yet.”

Meis huffs. Gueira hunkers down in front of Aina obediently, waiting patiently for her to mount him, but she doesn’t.

“Won’t he burn me?” she asks after a moment, “And what about my bike? Am I supposed to just leave it here?”

“No one will bother it,” Galo reassures her, taking her helmet from her to leave with the bike, before he offers her a hand, “No one comes out here much, not anymore. And no, he won’t burn you. Burnish only burn people they don’t like, and I’m sure Gueira likes you well enough. Right, big guy?”

Gueira just grins mischievously, doing absolutely nothing to reassure his rider. But, with a sigh, Aina takes Galo’s hand and uses it to hold herself steady until she’s securely mounted on Gueira’s back, straddling his broad shoulder blades and gripping tightly to the tall black scutes that sprout up from his back just before them. She wobbles unsteadily as he rises to his full height, but quickly finds her balance.

“He’s...hot, sure,” Aina remarks, visibly surprised, as she runs her fingers along the smooth, black skin, feeling along Gueira’s scutes and scales, jerking her hand back when a deep hot breath flutters one of the vents in his hide, “But...it doesn’t hurt at all. He just feels warm.”

“It’s cuz his flames are protecting you!” Galo says cheerily - from a few feet below her, where he sits on Lio’s back with his fingers curled in his soft greenish-blonde mane. Lio is stands even shorter than Meis at the shoulders, but is still easily large enough to carry someone Galo’s size. The Burnish are otherworldly by their size alone, nevermind any of their other, more alien characteristics. 

“Everybody ready?” Lio asks.

“Ready,” Gueira huffs.

“Ready,” Meis grumbles, in a voice that sounds eternally ragged and hoarse.

Aina nods to Galo, who gives the side of Lio’s long neck a stroke. “We’re ready, Lio. Lead the way.”

Huffing, Lio sets off at a trot. Meis still isn’t as coordinated as he or Gueira, trailing along at Gueira’s hindquarters as he follows them off into the waste with Lio at the head of the pack, Galo sitting tall and proud atop his shoulders, like he was born to sit there, a throne of living flesh and blood crafted especially for him.

“Hey, Galo?” Aina pipes up after the first fifteen minutes have passed in relative silence, the rocky mountain trails gradually turning to soft dry dirt. Thirty minutes more and they’ll be in the desert, where the air will be humming with heat even this early in the morning. Aina is suddenly grateful for the water bottles she brought along in her backpack and the Poptart she hurriedly ate on her way out the door after Galo’s late-night phone call.

“Mmm?” Galo hums, as easygoing and carefree as ever, a stark contrast to the determination she senses in the three Burnish. He’s never been serious a day in his life, she thinks.

“Say Heris is actually working with Kray at this weird alien experimentation lab,” Aina says, earning an offended huff from her  _ noble steed,  _ “Sorry, that was insensitive.”

Galo shrugs. “What about it?”

Aina hesitates, then softly asks, already squinting in the sunlight and wishing she had brought her sunglasses, “Why didn’t she tell me?”

Galo considers it for a moment, his face settling into something strangely serious. It doesn’t suit him, she thinks to herself as she studies the downturned corners of his lips and the way his bushy brows draw too tightly together, forming wrinkles that set heavy on his forehead. “The people you love,” he says softly, the way someone speaks only from experience, “aren’t always who you hope they are.”

They’re quiet for awhile after that, their conversation hanging in the air unspoken. The silence speaks louder than words ever could. 

* * *

Meis wishes he never had to return to the facility, but the part of him that wants to see Thyma safe and free speaks louder than the part of him that wants to turn tail and flee from the wretched place. Unfortunately, traveling with Galo and Aina is slow, the non-Burnish needing to stop periodically to relieve themselves or drink water or eat something, Galo offering him a broken-off bit of granola bar at one point, but his stomach is too much of a mess with nerves to accept it. It’s well after moonrise by the time they pass through the gulley where he and Gueira had spent the last few nights, pausing at the nearby waterhole to drink. Gueira catches them something to eat and Aina curls her lip in disgust as he and Meis tear it to shreds on the canyon floor nearby, the air smelling sickeningly of spilled guts and high anxiety.

The desert is unexpectedly cold after the sun sets. It isn’t long before Aina starts to shiver, digging a jacket embellished with her and Galo’s squad number on the yellow-striped sleeve out of her backpack to cover up with.

“Can’t believe this is how I’m spending my weekend off,” she grumbles at Galo, who chuckles.

“C’mon, Aina,” he encourages her with his usual cheeky grin, “We’re saving lives. Isn’t that what we’ve been training to do all this time?”

“We’re usually the ones putting out the fires,” she remarks, arms crossed over her knees to warm herself where she sits, “Not starting them.”

Galo shrugs. “It’s the right thing to do. And if that includes starting a fire or two, then I’m ready.”

Aina quirks a brow, well-manicured and strawberry blonde, not dyed the bright bubblegum pink that her hair is. “What happened to that burning firefighter’s soul, huh? The Galo I know would never start a fire.”

“My soul still burns,” Galo reassures her, grinning so broadly that his eyes crinkle closed, right as Lio returns from his meal with Gueira and Meis to lay down behind him, tucking him into the warm curl of his body and fending off any lingering traces of cold that the desert night might bring, “It just burns for Lio now.”

Aina is quiet, a shudder running up her spine as a cool breeze blows in from the south. Galo settles into Lio’s flank, eager for sleep after getting none the previous night, chasing his familiar warmth. One of Lio’s forearms settles around him, holding him close, his huge head lifting to survey Gueira curling up with Meis nearby, the two curled into a red-and-blue yin-yang, with pointed chins rested on each other’s rumps and tails wrapped around one another. The twisted smile that’s omnipresent on his snout twitches upwards a little more. It’s the telltale sleeping posture of a bonded Burnish pair. His beloved childhood friend Gueira has found his match. Meis has easily fallen into his new role as a Burnish, the instincts coming as easily as breathing to him. Either Gueira taught him well or Meis was a natural. Maybe both.

A soft sigh catches his attention. He turns his slender snout towards Aina, huffing softly, sending up a plume of steam from the vents behind his shoulder blades. Galo snores right through it, only nestling closer to his warmth. 

“You should sleep,” Lio tells her, “Tomorrow will be a challenge for us all.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Aina grumbles irritably, but there’s no real venom behind it. She sounds tired.

“You’re afraid,” Lio says understandingly, “You know Galo wouldn’t lie to you. You know that we’re really bringing you to the government facility where your sister works. You’re worried what you’re going to find there.”

“What are you, a psychologist?” Aina remarks dryly.

“I do not know what that is,” Lio replies, “But, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think Dr. Heris ever truly meant to hurt us. She’s misguided. Kray’s led her into this so deep that she sees no way out but to continue following him. He may have even threatened her to gain her loyalty. He’s a cruel man. Far crueler than your sister. She was just dealt the unfortunate hand of doing his dirty work.”

“A cruel man who saved Galo’s life, you know,” Aina adds, “Never thought I’d see the day when Galo just...accepted, that Kray wasn’t who he thought he was.”

“Kray did not save Galo’s life,” Lio replies, “He nearly ended it, and then he carried Galo through a life of loneliness and emptiness and feeling as if he was never good enough for him. Galo is a far better son than the likes of Kray ever deserved. Galo is kind. The kindest human I’ve ever met, in fact. It’s only because of him that I don’t think of every last one of you as the monsters who murdered my people. It’s because of him that I know that you humans are capable of kindness at all. I know that you are kind, too.”

Aina glances at him, eyes cold. “What do you want from me, Lio?”

“I want you to talk to Heris,” Lio says simply, “Convince her to help us. The facility might be small, but it’s heavily guarded, and with weapons that we Burnish can’t stand up to easily. We need someone on the inside. Dr. Heris can consider this her chance to redeem herself, or else we’ll have no choice but to consider her our enemy. Burnish do not kill for fun, but we will kill for necessity, Aina. Thyma has spent nearly her entire life in there. I’ll stop at nothing to finally see her free. Do you understand?”

“I’ll talk to Heris, but under one condition,” Aina says, frowning severely.

Lio nods for her to go ahead.

“You can’t kill her,” Aina tells him, “I don’t care if she’s your enemy. She’s my sister.”

“I wouldn’t even consider it unless I had no other choice,” Lio says, “I don’t foresee Heris being the one to stand in our way, regardless. She’s a scientist, not a guard.”

“Promise me.”

Lio stares at her unblinkingly and nods. “I promise, Aina Ardebit.”

“And…” Aina hesitates.

“What is it?” Lio asks.

“You shouldn’t kill Kray,” Aina says, “Galo might have turned against him now, but he’s still his dad. He’s still going to have feelings about him, even if they’re no longer good ones. He’s still going to feel  _ something  _ when Kray dies, and it won’t be anything good. It never is.”

“I cannot make promises not to kill Kray,” Lio replies, “I see no other way to bring my people peace. So long as he’s alive, someone out there will be pursuing us. There are so few of my people left that I can’t afford to put them in danger any longer.”

“Galo sacrificed everything for you,” Aina retorts, “Sacrifice one thing for him.”

Lio chuckles, dark and low. “You do not care for me, do you, Aina Ardebit?”

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” Aina says, “It’s that Galo is my best friend and you showed up and ruined his life, dude. You think he’s ever going to be able to live a normal life after this? He’s being accused of manslaughter, Lio. He can’t exactly go back home when this is all said and done - and that’s if you don’t get him killed before then.”

Lio considers this. “I appreciate your honesty with me, Aina. But I would never allow harm to come to Galo. He’s my mate. I will do whatever it takes to give him a happy and full life when this is over. Because I love him.”

“Then, you’ll think about what I said,” Aina harumphs. Lio’s tail twitches in irritation, then stills.

“I will,” he finally says, then the two of them go quiet. Somewhere in the desert, an animal calls, sharp and shrill, and an owl hoots overhead.

Aina shivers when the wind blows, carrying with it none of the heat of the suffocating summer sun that had beat down on them all day. Without it, the desert is vast and cold.

A warmth settles around her shoulders, squeezing her tight and drawing her in. She glances down to find that it’s Lio’s tail, prehensile and strong, bringing her into the curl of his body with Galo. She hesitates for a moment, then lays her head down on the oppressive warmth of his haunch, closes her eyes, and allows herself to sleep, if only for a moment. Lio’s warmth is pleasant, intoxicating, but it’s still a far cry from the warmth of her own bed back home.

Morning comes too soon, with the same oppressive sun that left them cold in the night beaming blindingly down on the pack Fotia, nudging them awake none too gently. Already, the heat has returned, Meis’ jaws dislocating and stretching apart in a terrifying display of tooth and tongue while Gueira gently nuzzles underneath his chin, rumbling with purrs. Galo stretches with his arms high up over his head, Lio greeting him with a gentle squeeze from his flexible tail. Everyone looks around at the desert as its red sands glower and gleam in the morning sun, slowly getting to their feet in varying stages of wakefulness. But, all immediately realize that something is wrong.

Aina is gone. 


	13. Chapter 13

The facility is a stone’s throw from where Aina spent the night with Galo and his weird alien monster friends. How they’ve managed to remain hidden from whoever is supposedly after them this close to the very place where they were once kept prisoner for any length of time is beyond her. She’s well-accustomed to being the singular brain cell at the fire station where she and Galo worked together a short while ago, before her best friend abruptly disappeared without a trace, without so much as a goodbye, and stood accused of the murder of an unknown man found dead and ripped to ungodly shreds in his apartment. Aina had known that Lio was the real one to blame the instant she heard. It seems that she’s going to be the singular brain cell in a pack of three fire-breathing monsters and one very stupid human now, too.

Aina finds the facility without issue. She can’t imagine that Lio was bringing them anywhere else; it’s the only structure around for as far as the eye can see and then some, a sole building standing proud among red sandstone gulleys and sprawling sandy plains. It’s a nondescript, concrete place with a tall fence of iron bars around its perimeter, crackling with electricity and wound with barbed wire around the top. It certainly  _ looks  _ like some sort of secret detention center, this far out in the desert, with that sort of security and even its own guard tower, which sits alongside a sprawling sandy drive leading up to its electrified front gates. The guard on-duty looks half-asleep and none too attentive, so Aina helps herself, slipping by him and searching for another entryway.

She finds it in the form of a car-sized hole in the fence - which seems like a gaping obvious wound in the place’s otherwise extensive security measures. Whatever had done this had been very big and presumably very angry, the edges of the once-electrified bars charred black with flame. She slips through the hole into what looks like a battlefield, wincing when something cracks and klinks like glass under the thick soles of her boots, glancing down to find that it’s sand turned glassy and hard with flame, scattered among blackened char marks left behind in the earth. There are other materials scattered throughout the destruction, too, incinerated plastic and metal melted down to sludge. Her mind flickers to Gueira, the biggest and strongest of the Burnish trio. Galo had said his mate was recently held here and Gueira came to retrieve him. This must have been his doing.

Aina doesn’t linger for longer than she has to. This place must be crawling with security cameras and armed guards. There’s an unmarked entrance on the west side of the building, a nondescript metal door with a badge reader, which she unlocks with a quick tap from the Foresight Pharmaceuticals name badge she had taken from Galo’s backpack the night before, dangling from an embellished matching lanyard. It clicks unlocked and she slides inside without a word. It’s early - very early, the sun having just barely risen - and first shift doesn’t seem to have arrived yet. Surely, a place like this must have third-shift security. Surely. She just needs to avoid them.

Aina isn’t certain what exactly she’s looking for. Perhaps she’s as big of an idiot as Galo and his monster friends are, barging into an allegedly top-secret government research facility unannounced with a stolen name badge and nothing to protect herself with, but she couldn’t sleep with all the thoughts racing through her head and she wasn’t about to let Galo or any of his stupid monsters come here and get themselves killed. And also, she just needs to know if what Galo and Lio said really is true, if Heris really  _ is  _ at least partially behind this. What’s she looking for? Answers, maybe. Something that confirms her adamant denial to be true. Something that proves her sister’s innocence. 

Instead, she finds an elevator.

It takes an employee key card. She tries Galo’s, privately surprised when the metal door slides aside for her, she would have thought that Kray would have at least had the foresight to deactivate Galo’s credentials after he escaped. Perhaps he didn’t have much  _ foresight  _ after all, she thinks to herself cheekily as she steps inside. There are only two floors: the base floor and a terrace level. Huh, the building had appeared to be a single story from the outside. So, was it cleverly built or was the terrace level underground?

She suspects the latter as the elevator lurches downwards, opening up into a very dimly lit hallway that’s cold enough to make her instantly shiver. It feels like the meat freezer at the restaurant she had worked at as a waitress before she became a firefighter, but infinitely colder. She hugs her arms close to herself for warmth, feeling them pepper with gooseflesh as she wanders down the lengthy hall, listening intently for any signs of security approaching. Seriously, some top-secret government facility this is. Even Galo should have had a fairly easy time with this.

The terrace floor is suspiciously empty, the spacious hallway dimly lit by single bulbs hanging from the ceiling by supports that sway gently in the air currents emerging from the vents on either end of the hall, filling the emptiness with a bitter chill. It smells vaguely musky down here, like a basement, and on either side of the hall, there are what look like cells, guarded by the same thick iron bars that fenced in the facility on the outside, with some sort of metallic sheet behind them, so she can’t see into them except for one tiny circular peep-hole peering into each tiny chamber. She checks one and finds it to be empty. The next one is also empty, and the one after that. She expects nothing as she squints through the peep-hole into the final cell in on the left wall - and promptly jumps out of her skin when her narrow field of vision is met with glinting bright blue teeth and a huff of hot breath that fogs up the window on the other side. She jumps back, half-yelping, half-gasping, and claps a hand over her mouth to silence herself too late.

Aina waits in baited silence and barely dares to breathe as she listens for the footsteps of guards or the sound of the elevator opening at the end of the hall, but it never comes. She exhales in relief, slowly returning to her place at the cell door and peering through the peep-hole a second time. Just as before, a toothy maw awaits her, snuffling at the little pinpoint of glass curiously. It’s difficult to see what the creature looks like in the semi-darkness, its slender black muzzle visible only by the glowering light of its own neon-blue teeth, but she doesn’t have to guess twice on what it is.

There’s a badge reader on the wall beside the cell door.

Aina reaches for Galo’s name badge. She’s already here. She’s already in too deep to turn around now. She’s already seen and heard too much. If she’s going to be a part of this, she might as well cash her last brain cell in with the best of them and join Galo in the ranks of reckless stupidity, she decides as she holds his card up to the reader. It beeps, then flashes bright red in rejection.

“Dammit,” Aina mutters, peering down at the reader and trying the badge again. It flashes red once more, forbidding her from entering. At least this much makes sense; Galo had only been a visitor here once before Kray allegedly tried to  _ do away with him _ , something she’s still having a hard time grasping when she’s only ever seen the side of Kray that seemed every bit the loving father that Galo always made him out to be, so he wouldn’t have access to something as crucial as the cell doors that led to the Burnish. Grumbling, she stoops down to investigate the badge reader more closely, looking for a way to manually override it or pry it off the wall, bringing her face level with it. 

A light flashes, and then the reader is suddenly beeping and lighting up green and the cell door is clicking unlocked, iron bars gliding seamlessly into slots in one side of the door frame while the sheet of metal on their other side pops open like a refrigerator seal. 

Aina stares at the badge reader hard. What the hell just happened?

But, she doesn’t have time to think about it, quickly gathering her resolve and stepping through the empty doorway - into a very cold, very dingy, very dark cell lit by a single flickering lightbulb, the floor strewn with only half-rotten newspaper clippings and old straw. There’s some semblance of a bed in the corner, a prison-style paper-thin mattress stretched over a hard wire frame, with what looks like an IV pole stationed beside it. The IV is still dangling from it, the needle hanging uselessly just above the stained concrete floor, and there are blood stains on the mattress.

“Doctor?” a hoarse voice beckons behind her, from the darkest, farthest corner of the cell, “Here early tod - not doctor.”

It’s a Burnish, about the same size as Meis, but built slender and lithe like Lio - all long black legs and lengthy flexible tail, but without a trace of fur on it. It has a singular horn, twisting around itself like a unicorn’s, pointing up from its forehead, between two little protrusions that might be additional horns or even scutes but look like cute little triangular kitten ears. They even flatten against the Burnish’s smooth head when Aina turns towards it, squeezing against the wall in frightened panic. 

“Hey, easy, easy,” Aina says quickly, lifting her palms in a clear gesture of surrender, “I won’t hurt you. Are you Thyma?”

The Burnish perks up at this, craning its - her - neck forward slightly in curiosity, to regard Aina eyelessly through the darkness. Finally, the huge head rises and falls in a nod.

“Hi, Thyma,” Aina says softly, gently offering her a hand, “I’m Aina. Aina Ardebit.”

Aina can feel the sting of hot steam against her fingertips as it roils up from Thyma’s nostrils as she sniffs at the offered hand, then gives it a tentative lick with a very hot, very sticky tongue. The sensation almost makes Aina shudder, so warm against the cell’s bitter cold.

“Smell like a Burnish,” Thyma says, “Are you with Lio?”

Aina nods. “That’s right, I’m with Lio. And Galo, too. You met Galo, right?”

Thyma nods, eagerly this time.

“You thought I was someone else when I came in,” Aina says, reluctantly sitting on the edge of the stained mattress, avoiding the spots of dried blood, “There’s another woman who looks like me here, isn’t there, Thyma?”

Thyma nods, slowly emerging from the shadowy corner to come closer. For the first time, Aina can see the gauze bandages wrapped tight around her forelimbs, soaked through with spots of blood in places. There are more bandages on her flanks and haunches, stuck tight to her smooth obsidian hide. “Doctor Heris,” she says.

Aina shudders. She doesn’t realize that it’s with a sob and not from the cold until she feels the tears streaming hot down her chill-flushed cheeks. “Oh god,” she says through a broken gasp, “Oh god, it’s true.”

Thyma steps back as if startled, but Aina waves her back over, arms outstretched and reaching. Only when Thyma steps within their reach does she finally close them, bringing the Burnish in close to hold her tight. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” she half-says, half-sobs, “She did this to you, didn’t she?” She gestures to the gauze on Thyma’s forearms. “She’s been hurting you, all this time. I never even knew.”

Thyma squirms a little, then settles in, resting her chin on Aina’s shoulder. The skin there is bare and prickling with gooseflesh in the cold, but Thyma is warm. “What’s wrong?” she finally asks.

“Dr. Heris is my sister,” Aina confesses, the way someone confesses a sin at church, “Dr. Heris is my sister and she’s been hurting you and the other Burnish all this time and I never even knew. I supported her. I knew she worked for a government agency, but nothing like...like this.”

Thyma looks like she’s at a loss, and Aina is well aware that she must look a few fleas short of a circus to the Burnish right about now, breaking into her only sanctuary before she hugs her and breaks down in tears over matters that Thyma probably doesn’t understand, at least right now. “It’s...okay?” Thyma offers, clearly having not comforted someone in a long time, if ever.

“It’s not okay,” Aina mumble-sobs into the Burnish’s slender neck, “I should have known. I should have stopped it. I mean, Burnish are pretty much people, right? This is like...this is like experimenting on people...this is wrong…”

Thyma whines, half in reassurance, half in confusion, but doesn’t budge. She quite enjoys the security of Aina’s strong, solid arms around her in a way that doesn’t hurt or squeeze too tightly. It’s rather nice and she might have been content to stay there for awhile longer, if the sound of approaching footsteps didn’t send her scrambling back to the corner with a growl of warning at the open door. 

Aina turns, braced for a fight.

Instead, she finds herself face-to-face with her sister, meeting her wide blue stare through the familiar circular rims of her glasses, unusually smudgy today. Aina doesn’t bother to dry her tears as she rises to her feet to stand across from her.

Finally, Heris speaks, her voice cracking with uncertainty.

“Aina?”

* * *

Gueira sniffs the canyon floor, rewarded with a nostril full of sand, jerking away with a snort and a shake of his head. Meis cackles at him, then flicks a split tongue out to tenderly lap the lingering particles away from his snout.

“Headed for facility,” Gueira announces when he comes back to where Lio is sitting with Galo, trying to console him as he frets over his missing friend. Galo has come up with possibilities for Aina’s disappearance ranging from being eaten by a stray cougar in the night to getting fed up with them and walking all the way home in the hour since he’s woken to find her absent, thick brows furrowed in obvious distress as he cradles his head in his hands. Lio has his neck curled around him comfortingly, purring softly to reassure him.

“Oh god, what is she  _ doing?”  _ Galo barks when Gueira returns with his news, tugging at his own hair in frustration, “Ugh! She went to talk to Heris herself! She’s gonna get herself killed!  _ I’m  _ supposed to be the stupid one, she should know better!”

“Foresight doesn’t make a habit of being at the facility unless he’s specifically needed,” Lio comments, one tongue lapping idly at Galo’s jaw to soothe him, “She’s in no danger, so long as Colonel Vulcan doesn’t find her. And we don’t know for a fact that they wouldn’t just let her in if she asked, since she’s Dr. Heris’ sister. She could say she was just there to visit her.”

Gueira stamps a foot in protest. “No visitors,” he reminds Lio.

“There are always exceptions,” Lio says, “Foresight wouldn’t want his people rousing suspicion, though I do think he would want to take it up with Heris later. It’s a moot point either way. We need to get there quickly and see what she’s up to, whether she’s in danger or not.”

Galo looks at him, frowning. “Aina wouldn’t rat us out.”

“People do a lot of things when their family is involved, kitten,” Lio says softly, “Aina is no fan of mine. I don’t know that I trust her.”

“Well, I do,” Galo retorts.

Lio considers it, then gently lowers his head to press it flat against Galo’s forehead. “Then, I trust her, as well. Let’s go get her back.”

Galo lifts his arms to hold Lio’s head, hugging it gently to his chest before he stands. “Let’s hurry,” he says with a bit more urgency than usual, “I don’t know how I’ll live with myself if Aina gets hurt because I dragged her into this.”

Lio hunkers down and Galo mounts him. “Gueira, Meis,” he calls back over his shoulder at the two, where Gueira is demonstrating to Meis how to track a scent, the latter’s snout pressed close to the hard-baked earth, “We’re leaving.”

“Coming, boss,” Gueira calls back, then turns back to Meis, dipping down to nuzzle him with his snout, huffing steam across his smooth black skin, “Meis, beloved.”

Meis looks at him and tilts his head to one side. Talking in this form is still difficult for him, but he manages a gravely, “Yeah?”

“Okay going back?” Gueira asks, “Dangerous. Don’t want mate to get hurt again.” He presses his muzzle to the place where Meis’ right eye would be if he had any eyes at all in this form, the smooth black hide rumpled and uneven with blue-grey scar tissue. He nuzzles the scar, whining softly in unspoken apology.

One of the scythes that sprouts from Meis’ back, which he’s since discovered are dull enough to touch on one side, gently drops to Gueira’s snout, bringing it down to Meis’ level where he can lap at it gently. Gueira’s omnipresent grin splits, spilling his own five tongues to return the gesture. “Not your fault,” he manages hoarsely, “Thyma needs us.”

Gueira’s chin rises and falls in a nod. “Turn human, remember how?”

Meis nods, then steps back and beckons to his flames. They answer his call much easier after two days of practice, tongues of blue licking up the length of his limbs and burning his body right down to ash, only to rebuild him anew as a man.

A naked man, because his clothes are long gone by now.

Gueira doesn’t seem to mind, his huge head immediately pressed against Meis’ slender chest, where the little silver barbels of his piercings have somehow held on even though his clothing didn’t. He only hopes it isn’t uncomfortable for Galo or Lio. But hey, maybe it will help them catch the drop on the guards at the facility; they won’t be expecting a  _ naked man,  _ he supposes. They also won’t be expecting him to return a Burnish. He doesn’t know which is better.

Gueira interrupts his train of thought with a rumbling purr. “Meis,” he says, “Beloved is brave and strong and beautiful.”

“I am not,” Meis protests, his voice feeling strange when it’s no longer gravely and hoarse, “Bein’ brave implies I’m doin’ somethin’ heroic. We’re jus’ doin’ what’s right.”

Gueira presses the flat of his head to Meis’ forehead, rumbling sweetly. “Love you,” he says.

Meis cups his face, kissing him on the point of his snout. “I love you, too, Gueira.”

* * *

Heris stumbles backwards a step or two in shock. “A-Aina? What are you doing here?”

Aina chokes back more tears, her gaze flickering from Heris’ face to the Burnish huddled in the far corner of her tiny, dirty cell. What Galo and Lio said was true. Painfully, agonizingly, horribly true. “You know exactly why I’m here, Heris,” she says with a cold note in her voice that she’s never addressed her sister with before. How could she? Heris practically raised her - and even then, managed to make something more than a shitty restaurant waitress or a firefighter out of herself, went to school and graduated top of her class with a Ph.D. even though she still had to come home and tend to Aina. She was the only family Aina had until she came to the fire station and made a new one for herself there. She was close to Heris, who had been as much a mother as a sister and doubly so a best friend, she had believed in her, she had encouraged her. And all along,  _ this  _ is what she was encouraging. This is what Heris was doing that she couldn’t tell her. Was she really under a non-disclosure agreement, or did she just not want to tell Aina because she knew all along that she would never agree with it?

“H-How did you get in here? How did you even  _ find  _ this place?” Heris demands. Aina’s heart sinks all over again; Heris doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty now that she’s been found out.

“Heris,” Aina says, swallowing her tears and steeling her resolve, “This is wrong. You know this is wrong.”

“You’re meddling in affairs you don’t understand, Aina,” Heris spits back with so much venom that it stings, “Now, get away from my asset before she burns you.”

Aina knows that Thyma couldn’t burn her if she wanted to; Lio had mentioned a collar that prevented them from sparking their flames and would electrocute or freeze them if they tried, which she can clearly see cinched tight around Thyma’s neck now. But, Heris doesn’t need to know how much Aina knows, not yet. “She won’t,” Aina says, “She’s friendly.”

“She’s an animal, Aina,” Heris says, “If you startle her, she won’t know any better.”

“She is  _ not  _ an animal,” Aina retorts, “and neither were the others, before you and Kray killed them all. You  _ know  _ she isn’t just an animal.”

“Kray?” Heris prompts, startled, “How do you know about Kray? You’ve never even met the man.”

Aina had met him twice, when he visited the fire station for communal family dinners that Galo invited him to. He had seemed a warm, kind man at the time, a father who genuinely cared for his son, but Captain Ignis had never cared for him. Keeping up appearances, she thinks back bitterly now. “I have,” Aina says, “and I know what you two have been up to all this time. I know all about the Burnish and what you  _ did  _ to them, Heris. How  _ could  _ you? They’re people!”

“We experiment on rats and rabbits all the time,” Heris retorts, waving a hand dismissively, “Don’t act like this is any different.”

“She’s not an animal, Heris. She’s a person. Wow, Kray’s  _ really  _ gotten into your head, hasn’t he? He’s really convinced you that this is  _ okay.  _ The Heris I know would  _ never  _ agree to this,” Aina spits, blocking Heris’ path as she tries to walk towards Thyma.

Heris frowns. “Aina. Get out of my way. Go home, or I’ll be forced to alert security that you’re here. You’re  _ lucky  _ they didn’t find you in here before I did.”

“No,  _ you  _ get out of my way, Heris,” Aina says in a voice that’s almost a growl, “Free Thyma. Now. You know she doesn’t deserve this. All those bandages on her? Did  _ you  _ do that to her?”

“I did,” Heris says, with a practiced lack of emotion, ticking a box on her clipboard before tucking her pen back behind her ear, “She’s my experiment and I will do with her as I please. And besides, Aina, this is a  _ good  _ thing! Don’t you understand? Here, watch this.”

Aina watches warily as Heris plucks what looks like a ballpoint pen from the chest pocket of her white lab coat, her expression quickly morphing into horror when she uncaps it to reveal a small Xacto blade, glinting and sharp, and presses it to her own forearm, slitting it up to the elbow.

“Heris!” Aina barks too late, but Heris seems profoundly unbothered, as if she’s done this a hundred times by now. And she probably has, Aina realizes with a sinking feeling in her gut.

Heris snaps her fingers, ignoring the blood dripping down her forearm. “Here,” she says. Reluctantly, Thyma comes, emerging from the corner on shaky limbs to stand across from Heris, who offers her arm. Obediently, Thyma flicks her wet tongue across it, steam rising off of the wound as the blood immediately ceases to flow. Aina watches in mild alarm as the wound starts to stitch itself closed before her very eyes, sealing up seamlessly, until, forty seconds later, it’s not visible at all, as if it never happened to begin with. Galo had told her that the Burnish had advanced healing capabilities and that’s where Kray’s interest in them laid, but to see it in action was something else altogether. It looks more like magic than something ever possibly material or real. It’s incredible.

It also makes Aina feel sick. 

“See?” Heris prompts, “Burnish saliva has  _ incredible  _ healing capabilities, the likes of which we’ve never seen before. They can heal small surface wounds like this in seconds, restore larger wounds within minutes, and even regenerate entire organs in a few hours! They’re incredible, Aina. As soon as we’re able to synthesize the compound from their saliva in our lab, we’ll revolutionize the medical industry. This will eliminate the need for skin grafts, for setting broken bones, for organ transplants! Imagine the people we’ll save, Aina!”

The road to hell is always paved with good intentions. 

Aina inhales, exhales, steels herself.

“Think about the people you’ve killed, too,” she says.

Heris looks at her, flabbergasted. “I don’t understand, Aina. Aren’t you happy for me? This is  _ revolutionary,  _ this will  _ save lives _ , this…”

“ _ This  _ has singlehandedly destroyed an entire species of intelligent, sapient creatures, Heris. Burnish are people. You are killing  _ people.  _ You really wanna believe you’re helping somebody? Help Thyma. Help me. Don’t let her live her entire life stuck in this dirty cage while you jab her full of holes and put her through god knows what. She doesn’t deserve this.  _ None of them  _ deserved this, Heris. What did you  _ do?”  _

Heris frowns at her, adjusting her glasses. “The right thing.”

“Then, you’re not the sister I knew and loved. You’re not the sister who raised me. You’re not my Heris,” Aina retorts, “ _ My  _ Heris would never stand by and watch and let herself be brainwashed into destroying an entire people and ruining their lives. She would never.”

“Leave,” Heris orders.

“Not without Thyma,” Aina objects.

“I’ll call security to escort you off the premises, Aina,” Heris threatens, “I’ll have you arrested for trespassing on government-owned grounds.”

“Then you should have guarded it better. Your security is seriously lax,” Aina remarks, reluctantly stepping aside to let Heris reach Thyma, who audibly whimpers. Aina clenches her jaw at the sound. “Hey, Heris?”

“What?” Heris snaps hatefully, a far cry from the woman who once dutifully cooked Aina dinner, helped her with her homework, and tucked her into bed after her bath.

Aina clenches her fist. “Sorry about this.”

She whirls around and Heris raises her clipboard with a shout two seconds too late to prevent Aina’s fist from connecting with her jaw, sending spit flying in a spray as she bites her own tongue and stumbles sideways, her glasses clattering onto the concrete a few feet away.

“C’mon, Thyma!” Aina shouts, already halfway out the door before Thyma processes what just happened and scurries after her. Aina can hear Heris shouting somewhere behind them, but she doesn’t care, lurching for the elevator and stabbing the button repeatedly until the door dings open. While she waits, she looks around for a staircase, well aware that an elevator is the perfect place for them to get cornered, but there isn’t one. Groaning, she rushes into the elevator, Thyma just barely squeezing in behind her before the door dings closed and they start to rise.

“Where we going?!” Thyma yelps, visibly panicked with her slender tail tucked tightly between her legs, her not-kitten-ears flattened against her head, and her teeth bared together in a grimace. 

“Anywhere but here,” Aina says, “We’re getting you out of here, Thyma.”

The elevator lurches to a halt. The door opens.

A gun barrel the size of a small cannon greets them. Aina stumbles backwards on instinct, Thyma baring her teeth and growling fitfully as her ice collar sparks in warning. On the other end of the barrel is an ugly bald man that looks to be more glinting metal armor than human, smirking down at them delightedly.

“Well, well, well,” the ugly man barks in a voice somewhere between a laugh and a snarl, “What do we have here? Where do you think you’re going with that Burnish, little girl?” 

Aina thinks fast and kicks him between the legs where the armor looks weakest. 

The man only grunts. “Oh, wow, we’ve got ourselves a live one, do we? You really ought to calm down, before someone gets hurt,” he says, pointedly rolling the cannon-sized weapon his shoulder. A gun that size would blow a hole right through Aina, if it didn’t leave her in pieces on impact. 

Thyma snarls behind them, smoke curling up between her teeth as she rears back with fire burning in her maw - before she crumbles to the floor yelping as her collar electrocutes her so hard that just her proximity to the Burnish makes Aina’s skin crawl with electricity, the fire dying on her tongue as she coughs up a cloud of smoke. The ugly man erupts into laughter, holding his cannon in one hand while he grabs Aina’s wrist with the other, jerking her clean off of her feet and dangling her in the air like a ragdoll. 

“Putting up a fight is real cute ‘til it gets somebody killed, you know!” he laughs where he dangles her, similarly armored guards moving in behind him to contain Thyma - not that she’s much threat where she lays semi-conscious on the elevator floor, “Put ‘em in the cell on the main floor, maximum security! Can’t have ‘em trying to sneak out again!” He tosses Aina at a nearby guard, who catches her as if she weighs nothing. Four others come forward with what looks like a stretcher to move Thyma.

Something about seeing the Burnish unconscious and covered in bandages on the stretcher instills the fight back in Aina. Two guards are more dragging her than leading her down the hallway to the maximum security cell, but she’s kicking and screaming and spitting the entire time. Galo was right. Lio was right. Heris did this and she did it willingly.

She’ll get Thyma out of here if it’s the last thing she ever does.

Vulcan laughs as he watches his men remove Aina and Thyma, only stopping when something snagged on the elevator rung catches his eye, just big enough to trigger the motion sensor and prevent the door from closing. He stoops down, plucking it free, and examines it with a vulture’s keen eye.

It’s a Foresight Pharmaceuticals ID badge, dangling from a matching branded lanyard, for one Galo Thymos.

Vulcan sneers, muttering under his breath, then turns to one of his nearby men and nods.

“Get me Foresight.” 

* * *

Aina’s scent trail remains loud and clear even after the soft desert sands have swept away her footprints. But Lio remembers the way to the facility even without the scent. He could never forget. 

He watches it from a shallow ridge just above it now, with Galo balanced on his slender high shoulders, studying the empty courtyard. His vision is always blazing orange in the suffocating desert heat, making spotting signs of life from afar more difficult, but Galo promptly informs him that there’s no one around. Strange, Lio can’t recall a time when he didn’t see security guards posted at every entrance and exit. Perhaps they’ve grown more lax now that they’re guarding only one Burnish, he thinks bitterly.

Beside him, Gueira sniffs the air and huffs in distaste.

“Aina’s potentially blown our cover,” Lio says, “This is less than ideal.”

“Less than ideal or not, we’ve still gotta get her outta there,” Galo says.

“Of course. Thyma, too,” Lio agrees with a nod of his slender head, as he bends down for Galo to slide rather clumsily off his shoulders before he straightens again, scenting the air one last time before he steps forward, “Gueira.”

Gueira stoops for Meis to dismount him, leaving him standing awkwardly by Galo without a single scrap of clothing or a modicum of modesty besides the thin arms crossed over his bare chest, giving him a tender nuzzle with his snout before he follows Lio down the sandy slope.

Lio nods to him before he descends into the desert. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The passage of time within the facility walls feels sluggish and strange. How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? It blurs together into a dull drone as Aina stares aimlessly at the opposite wall from where she’s seated on a cold cell floor, trimmed bright white in hard-frozen frost that’s creeping steadily across the concrete. There’s no furniture, only Thyma’s still black form twisted sideways on the floor beside her, casting her in a steady glow of warmth. Someone did the bare minimum in bringing her a stiff white medical blanket, hanging off her broad shoulders and doing hardly anything to stave off the invasive cold. If not for Thyma’s warmth beside her, her fingers would be frostbitten and blue within the hour.

She knows there are guards posted from the sounds of their voices drifting through the thin concrete walls, flanked front and back with rows of iron bars that retreat into the ceiling and floor to open the cell. There’s a refrigerator seal between them, too, reminding her again of a walk-in freezer. Somewhere, a vent blows more cold air. Her teeth chatter and she shuffles closer to Thyma for warmth. The electric ice collar around her throat has finally ceased to crackle.

It’s awhile longer before Thyma stirs. Her slender head rises blearily and, if she had any eyes to speak of, Aina is certain they would be blinking dazedly in confusion. She looks around, chuffing softly, then lays her head back down on the cold concrete. Aina knows it must be sapping her strength, being exposed to so much cold at once. A tentative brush of her neck confirms that those are icicles creeping along her smooth black hide, forming around the outer rim of her collar.

“You okay?” Aina asks.

Thyma shivers. “Cold.”

Aina removes the blanket from around her shoulders and throws it over Thyma, tucking it in around her. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

Thyma watches her eyelessly - then slowly, tentatively, curls her long neck around Aina, bringing her in close. It’s almost like a hug. It would be sweet, if not for the icicles biting into Aina’s skin from Thyma’s collar. She shrinks away from it, sinking into her flank instead. When her ear is flush to Thyma’s skin, she can hear the dull roar of the fire inside her.

“Try to save me,” Thyma says after awhile, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, I got you into an even bigger mess,” Aina replies, fingers stroking idly at a raised crescent moon of a scar on Thyma’s flank (how severely did a Burnish have to be wounded before it healed so poorly that it left a scar?), “Is there any other way out?”

Thyma’s head twitches in a shake. “This is baddest of bad places.”

“Where, this building or this cell?” Aina asks.

Thyma nods without really answering. Aina hugs her tighter - but not too tightly. After a lifetime of having her bodily autonomy disrespected, she doesn’t want her to feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable with her. She has a lifetime of Heris’ mistakes to make up for and a family name to clear, if nothing else.

“Do they feed you?” Aina asks out of morbid curiosity.

“Once a day,” Thyma says softly, her voice growing steadily hoarser, “Water twice. Can go outside for few minutes everyday if I’m good. Not been good lately.”

“You’re always good,” Aina reassures her without really knowing, but Thyma has been nothing but sweet and mild towards her so far, when any other creature in her situation would be vicious by now, “Heris is just an idiot.”

Thyma is quiet, either because she’s too tired or downtrodden to respond or because she’s not used to someone calling her good, Aina isn’t sure. Several minutes later, her throat vibrates with a sad little sound. Aina strokes her flank, close to where her heart beats with blood and burns with fire. She can feel the thump of it through her ribcage. Thyma must be a nervous wreck.

“Don’t worry, Thyma,” Aina tries to soothe her, as Thyma’s slender black tail, hairless where Lio’s had long greenish fur, flicks over her back. The weight and warmth of it would be soothing in any other situation, but right now, Aina couldn’t let her guard down if she tried. “Help is on the way. Galo promised he would come back for you, didn’t he? Galo never backs down from his promises.”

“Galo is nice,” Thyma lulls tiredly, her chin rested flat on the cold frosted concrete, “Other human nice, too. Said he would come back with help, too.”

“What other human?” Aina asked, suddenly intrigued. 

“Meis,” Thyma says.

Aina’s mind flickers to a black beast with one long glowing blue horn and a mouthful of horrible yellow fangs and entirely too many legs. Maybe they’re thinking of different people, but it seems like too much of a coincidence. “Meis is a Burnish.”

Thyma’s tail twitches, her head shifting slightly towards Aina. “Wasn’t when I last saw him.”

“So, what?” Aina asks, “He just...became a Burnish in the past few days? Can that happen?”

Thyma nods. “Burnish make more Burnish. Bite human. Human turn Burnish.”

Aina sits up, ponytail bobbing, as she considers this new information. “Burnish can...turn people into Burnish?”

Another nod, weaker this time. Thyma had taken a nasty shock from her collar, but Aina suspects that it’s the cold currently sapping the energy out of her. “Lio bite somebody. Then Colonel Vulcan and white coats come to kill us all. Dr. Heris take me somewhere safe and hide me ‘til it’s over. I come back, all the other Burnish are gone. Blood everywhere. Smell of death everywhere. Smell terrible.”

“Wait, Heris saved you?” Aina asks, then realizes that the flip of hope her stomach does is all in vain. Heris only saved Thyma so she could continue her experiments; she had done her no kindness in sparing her life only to prolong her suffering. “Lio bit somebody? Who?”

Thyma’s entire body shudders at the mention. “Kray Foresight.”

Aina sits straight up now. “Lio bit Kray. Lio turned Kray into a Burnish.”

Thyma nods, a little startled at Aina’s sudden motion, curling into herself defensively. Aina realizes that she moved too fast, too sudden, and coos softly in apology, offering Thyma a hand, then stroking her gently when she accepts it. “Sorry. I didn’t know that,” Aina says, “Why would...Lio do that?”

“Kray is bad man,” Thyma says, “He make the Burnish suffer. Now, he suffer with us.”

Aina doesn’t know what to do with that.

Instead, she settles back into Thyma’s flank, relieved when the warmth of that flexible black tail curls around her once more, and trails her fingers along the hot vents that line Thyma’s flank, close to her ribs. “What’s it like?” she asks after a few moments of apprehensive silence, “Being Burnish?”

“Terrible,” Thyma whimpers, “Wish I was human, like you.”

Aina’s gaze flickers towards Thyma’s face, privately surprised. “Why?”

“Nobody experiment on human,” the Burnish says, “Nobody use needles on you. Nobody cut you open. Nobody hurt you on purpose.”

Aina swallows the lump in her throat and silently steels her resolve to free Thyma, no matter what it takes, no matter what she has to do, no matter if she lives to regret it.

She curls her fingers against Thyma’s hide and swallows hard. 

“Thyma,” Aina says, “I need a favor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meis and Gueira make themselves pretty scarce in this chapter to be the story's titular characters, but don't worry: they'll make their return to front and center next chapter. Just needed to sprinkle in some lesbians first. ;o
> 
> Next Chapter: Revenge.


	14. Chapter 14

There’s a gaping hole in the iron bars of the fence that surrounds Foresight’s Burnish experimentation facility, a testament to Gueira’s anger only a few days prior, the edges glinting dully with incinerated metal melted smooth. The electric crackle that once announced it is eerily quiet now - as is the rest of the courtyard, filled with only the sound of a hot desert wind stirring up the sand in a whirlwind of dusty orange.

Lio slips through the opening in the fence first, moving quickly. There’s no coverage here and he doesn’t want to remain out in the open any longer than necessary, certain that the guards are on high alert after Aina’s invasion earlier that morning. “I take it,” he says with a jerk of his horned head towards the hole, “this was your doing, Gueira.”

Gueira slides in behind him, far less elegantly, barely squeezing through the gap even though it’s nearly the size of a car. “Yeah,” he huffs at the memory of the sheer anger that had compelled him in that moment, the way his fire had suddenly burned black and the flames had been screeching inside him.

“You know that was a risky move,” Lio comments as he slips into the shadow beside the building, pausing every few feet to scent the air and listen for danger, following Aina’s scent trail to an employee entrance with a badge reader, “You could have been captured or killed.”

Gueira huffs indignantly. “If it were Galo,” he reminds him, “you would have done the same.”

Lio’s snarling sneer curls higher, smug. “I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Gueira chuffs as if to say  _ I thought so _ and slinks into the shadows after Lio, although even the darkest stretches on this side of the facility do him little good when he’s easily the size of the biggest breeds of bulls, maybe bigger. Fortunately, their plan doesn’t require stealth; it just requires them to get inside, for now.

Lio’s flexible tail cracks like a whip against the badge reader, shattering it into plastic shrapnel and electronic innards on impact. It shorts out with a crackle and the door clicks unlocked, Lio’s slender black digits curling around its stainless steel handle like fingers and pulling it down. The door opens a crack and he slips inside, Gueira narrowly squeezing through behind him. It’s suspiciously quiet, the entryway hall entirely empty except for a pair of boots by the rubber doormat and a few coats hanging on the nearby rack. 

Lio inhales, detecting fresh adrenaline trailing Aina’s scent. “Ah, there was trouble,” he says.

“Not surprising,” Gueira huffs in that gravelly deep voice of his, the vents behind his shoulder blades already steaming as sparks fly up from between his neon green fangs, “Shall we, boss?”

Lio inhales to light his fire, flickering flames of turquoise and pink fluttering up from his throat to seethe between his glinting white fangs. “Be my guest,” he says, then lights the whole hall on fire with a single exhale, smoke billowing up from his nostrils as he does. 

Gueria announces them with a bone-chilling howl before the smoke detectors do, feeble trickles of water raining down on them from the sprinklers above, doing nothing to stop the spread of the flames that surge up from his throat as he blasts the linoleum into reeking melted liquid, tongues of fire licking up the walls and peeling the paint right off before eating straight through the plaster. The response is immediate, shouting and running footsteps and the sound of someone tripping and smacking into the floor in their rush to reach them. But it’s no matter; this is exactly what they wanted.

The first few ice bullets instantly melt in the wall of flames, tangled tongues of turquoise, pink, and brilliant blood-red melding together seamlessly, streaked with white where it burns impossibly hot at its core. But, the next few start to have an effect, dampening their flames, solidifying them in blocks of ice that are immediately dripping and wet, just barely managing to contain them for a few seconds before they, too, are puddles of water on the floor. It’s chaos, Gueira’s frame, roaring with fire and billowing smoke, as wide as the hall, with Lio squeezed just barely in front of him with his short mane blowing in the convection currents like strong hot wind as he spits fire directly in the faces of armed guards dressed all in stark black and heavy armor. The fire of their ice rifles is inaudible over the roar of the fire, spreading in spite of the guard’s best efforts to contain it.

A single bullet of ice strikes Lio in the chest and he falters with a dramatic gasp, choking on his flames and coughing up smoke as he sinks to his knees on the melted wet remnants of the tiles. Gueira barks, but only with laughter; the guards are so visibly relieved at Lio’s easy defeat, blissfully unaware that it was entirely too easy to begin with, that Lio would never be downed by a single bullet, not even in their wildest dreams. They’re too easy to convince, bullets bouncing harmlessly off of Gueira’s hard obsidian hide before one finally hits him hard enough that he thinks it might fool them, crumpling onto his side with a breathless shriek and a final hiccup of smoke and flames. 

Subdued, Gueira listens in relative silence as the guards bicker over who has to come close enough to restrain them, with faux labored breathing that he hopes is convincing. It’s fortunate that he has no visible eyes, because it allows him to watch warily as some poor unfortunate soul staggers forward to quickly snap a thick black band closed around Lio’s slender throat. Lio remains entirely still, only coughing convincingly weakly when the collar clicks closed and starts to chill him. Someone else approaches Gueira from behind, slipping his own collar on him, thicker and wider than Lio’s, easily as large as an extra-extra-large belt. 

Fire extinguishers spray around them, only just barely managing to choke out their flames, until the crackle of them quietens completely. Water rains down on them from the sprinklers, wetting Gueira’s hide and seeping into Lio’s silky-fine mane until it separates into clumps. More guards arrive, this time with wheeled carts and makeshift lifts to move them with.  _ Stupid whitecoats,  _ Gueira thinks with the slightest smug curl of his omnipresent grin. They almost make it too easy.

It takes six well-built men to heave Gueira’s cart down the hall, after the arduous task of loading him onto it, which he made sure to make as difficult as possible by flopping limply to and fro like a ragdoll stuffed with rocks, his thick tail conveniently falling underneath everybody’s feet just to flick them out from under them. Lio is less of a chore, three men loading him into the lift to move him onto the cart and just two needed to push it down the hall to the elevator. 

“Stop,” a familiar voice booms as the elevator glides open, the singular lightbulb inside flickering weakly.

Gueira tenses. He knows that voice.

“Colonel Vulcan, sir,” one of the guards addresses him, not that the imposing guard needs any introduction. Gueira’s lip curls at his stench, just the very tip of his tail flicking in agitation. Beside him, Lio remains convincingly still, though Gueira can smell how he becomes tense.

“Big one’s too heavy for the elevator,” Vulcan grunts, shouldering guards aside. Gueira almost winces when his heavy gloved hand smacks his flank. “He weighs about three thousand pounds, you know! Quite the specimen, ain’t he?”

“What should we do with him, sir?” someone asks meekly.

“Take ‘im to one of the cells up here,” Vulcan says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “and post extra guards. Armed. Keep a cannon close, he can take a hit.”

Vulcan wheels around and shoves his men away from Lio’s cart, leaning on its curved handlebar himself with a whistle and a sickening smirk. “Now this one, I’m interested in. Foresight’s already on his way, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” several voices affirm. Gueira stiffens.

Vulcan laughs sickeningly. “Good. He’ll be happy to see the return of Lio of the pack Fotia.”

A few voices around them murmur in alarm. Vulcan laughs again, then he’s wheeling Lio’s cart into the elevator and jabbing buttons almost hard enough to break them. The door closes before Gueira can react, forgetting that he’s supposed to be playing dead and lifting his head, sending the men around him into frenzied panic before he flops back down with a rumble of fake exhaustion. There’s a murmur of dissension, and then Gueira is being wheeled away again. He watches the inside of the facility pass by, jarringly sideways. Whitecoats are gathering around, murmuring amongst themselves as he’s wheeled in, a cell door clanking ajar somewhere behind him as he watches their awed gazes in fervent disgust. It’s been a long time since there’s been more than one Burnish here in this facility, much less one the size of him. He can only imagine what they’re thinking, thoughts of poking and prodding him, injecting him with their chemicals, splitting him open just to watch him heal, breaking and resetting his bones again and again and again. It almost makes him shiver in the memory of fear, but he pointedly lifts his head and lashes his tail at them instead, sending them scurrying backwards in surprise. Oh, how he wants to sink his teeth into just one of them to stoke their fear, to remind them that Burnish aren’t experiments but living, breathing things that fight back and bite with wickedly sharp teeth - but, he settles for flicking his tail irritably, sending them scattering when it strikes the tiles with a crack like a whip. 

The cart comes to a halt in front of an empty cell, the door hanging ajar pointedly. Gueira hears a crackle of electricity a hot second before something sears into his flank, sending him jolting to his feet. He wheels around, gripping the offending cattle prod in his teeth and clenching his jaw, snapping it in half the way a man breaks a toothpick. The guard stumbles backwards and falls flat on his ass, still gripping his end of the prod as he gawks wide-eyed at Gueira. The Burnish huffs, dropping the broken end of the prod, then walks into his awaiting cell with a rumbling snarl, glaring at the guards eyelessly over his shoulder as the door slams shut behind him.

“Did you see that?” one of the guards gawks behind him. Gueira huffs, laying down silently with his chin rested on his crossed forelimbs, tail tip twitching with anxiety. He might have grown up with little foresight and what Lio called ‘rocks for brains,’ but even he knew that this was bad. Vulcan had pointedly separated him from Lio, and Foresight himself would be on site shortly from the sound of it. But, they were entirely too far in to back out now, so all he could was sit and wait. Meis and Galo would be here soon - and their plan, however sloppy or misguided, would be in motion.

“He’s a big one,” someone else comments. Gueira can hear multiple guards still lingering by the cell, while others haul the cart off. There are at least half a dozen of them, but they’re little threat to Gueira, even with their ice guns and a cannon purportedly on the way. Colonel Vulcan, yes. Kray Foresight, of course. Maybe even Heris Ardebit, with her serums that numb him and gasses that put him to sleep, until he helplessly wakes up with his limbs in casts and his stomach sewn shut and rapidly healing. But, some regular, run-of-the-mill guards? Absolutely not, and no weapon that Foresight devises will ever change that.

“Yeah, even bigger than that one,” the guard says, and the motion of them jerking their thumb back towards a cell diagonally across from his catches Gueira’s attention. He turns his head just far enough to look, but not far enough to rouse suspicion. 

There’s another Burnish there. Thyma, he thinks, relieved to see that, in spite of it all, she grew up big and healthy and strong - which hardly matches Meis’ description of her. The Burnish in the cell must stand as tall as his shoulder, impressively big and broad and muscular, but she’s too far away for Gueira to make out much more with his heat vision. He thinks he sees the faint movement of long fur like Lio’s when she moves. Strange, Gueira remembers Thyma being mostly hairless after she lost her downy-soft covering of cub fur so many years ago. But, then again, she had only just shed the last of it when Gueira escaped, so she very well could have changed between now and then. 

The other guard looks, too, then does a visible double-take. “Wait, what the hell?”

“What? What’s wrong?” the first guard asks in a panic, as the second darts over to the closed cell door with his ice gun raised, stopping short.

“There are two of them!” he exclaims.

“Yeah, and?” the other guard asks sheepishly. Gueira thinks he must be new. He’s young and reeks of anxiety.

“There was only  _ one  _ this morning!” the second guard spits, grabbing a radio from his belt and jerking it up to his lips, “Colonel Vulcan! We have a situation up here!”

The guards scatter, the facility yet again descending into panic. Gueira almost laughs. The chaos is gleefully disorganized, a far cry from the sleek, streamlined organization and uptight security the facility had boasted thirty years ago. After the bulk of them had been slaughtered and only Thyma remained, there was no reason for them to keep up those same security measures. Maybe this will work out just fine after all.

Gueira takes the momentary scramble to his advantage, pressing nearer to the cell bars for a closer look at the other Burnish. 

His brow shoots up in surprise.

The guards are right. There  _ are _ two Burnish in the other cell, one curled around the other to fend off the facility’s bitter cold. Gueira’s own cell is cold, but not as cold as theirs; he can see the ice crystals spiderwebbing across the glassy wall on this side of the bars, foggy where their breath touches it. He wants to call out to them, but he knows from memory that they couldn’t hear him through the glass and the refrigerator seal around it, so he settles for shuffling on his haunches and whining eagerly instead. Meis had said that Thyma was the only one here, but maybe he had missed something. Maybe there was another survivor.

It’s an exciting development for sure, but it can’t keep Gueira’s anxiety at bay for long, not when he can hear the vibrations of a dozen more pairs of feet quickly approaching, an alarm sounding somewhere in the back of the building, rattling his sensitive ears even from there. He thinks about Lio, somewhere in the facility where Gueira can’t protect him, not that he’s ever needed Gueira’s protection a day in his life, not from the time when he first darted between Gueira’s comparatively giant legs as a tiny cub, pounced on his head, and declared himself king. Gueira’s tail thumps at the memory. He thinks about Galo and Meis, alone in the desert, approaching a danger they can hardly grasp the scope of, willingly entering into a precarious situation to help the beasts that came into their lives and swept them up in a whirlwind they never should have known. But mainly, he thinks about Meis.

Meis. His Meis. His perfect, beautiful, intelligent specimen of a mate. He had never known humans to be friendly, but Meis was. He had never known humans to be accepting, but Meis was, right away, without question. He had never known humans to be kind, but Meis had been nothing but from the moment they first met. Truly, Gueira feels lucky to have met him, to have known him, to have loved him. And now, Meis has made the choice, a choice that Gueira will never fully grasp the extent of, to become a Burnish. It had been a relief, after the initial shock of it had worn off. If Meis is a Burnish, he’ll live as long as Gueira, he’ll burn as hot as Gueira, he’ll burn forever with Gueira. And Gueira would love nothing more.

As soon as this is over, Gueira thinks, he’ll find somewhere nice to settle with his mate, somewhere far from this facility and from Foresight Pharmaceuticals, somewhere pleasantly warm and temperate with mild winters and long springs. A den would be nice; Gueira can’t remember the last time he slept in a den, the way Burnish are meant to. His mind flickers to cubs in the spring and his hips wriggle in anticipation, tail thumping harder against the cold concrete floor. As soon as this is over, he promises, I’ll give you the life you’ve always deserved.

Now, he just has to survive long enough to make good on that promise.

* * *

“What do you  _ mean  _ there are  _ two of them  _ now?” Dr. Ardebit barks as she clicks down the corridor with Colonel Vulcan on her heels, a tablet hastily tucked underneath her arm after she was reluctantly dragged away from her newly reacquired subject. The Burnish called Lio had been a promising case study before his alleged death thirty years prior, and she’s not entirely surprised to see him still alive after all this time. She had  _ told  _ Kray he wasn’t dead when he ordered her to ship him off to the incinerator with the others. He had entered into some type of catatonic state after Vulcan had blasted him clean through his ribcage with one of his ice cannons despite her protests, and Kray declared him dead on sight. Really, Heris thinks, Kray must have just wanted him destroyed after he bit him three days prior, at the expense of her many years of careful research, such a waste. To have him back was a relief, a miracle, but it would have to wait.

She turns the corner so sharply that anyone not so well-accustomed to speedwalking in high heels would have slipped and broken their ankle, completely ignoring the hulking figure of the black-and-red Burnish from several days prior in his cell to instead stop short in front of Thyma’s. 

Her tablet hits the tiles and shatters, but she doesn’t even notice. 

A slender black face stares back at her eyelessly, with a level brow and steady demeanor that she instantly recognizes. The black face splits midway around a lipless maw crammed full of glinting yellow teeth, curving up past its cheeks in a permanent snarl. It’s the furriest Burnish she’s ever seen, with silky-smooth fur falling in thick curls around its elongated neck, leading into a curly mane that terminates in a thick tress of waves at the tip of its flexible black tail, and again on the backs of its limbs, trailing the floor prettily. It’s almost elegant, in a way, with its pretty pink curls turning strawberry blonde at the roots. It’s almost beautiful.

Heris screams.

Vulcan looks at her in confusion, then raises his hands defensively when Heris hurls herself at him, throwing herself into his barrel chest and pounding uselessly on his thick black armor with both fists, screaming and wailing and sobbing through the hiccups of tears that stain her pretty face streaky red and fog up her glasses. She isn’t even saying anything, just shrieking wordlessly, until she kicks Vulcan hard in his armored shin and he grunts, snatching her up by her arms and holding her still.

“Doctor,” he snarls, without any patience, “What the  _ hell  _ is going on?”

Heris screams again. Vulcan squeezes her until she breaks off in a broken little whimper, fixing her with a cruel stare through the orange lens he wears over one bulging ugly eye.

“Explain,” he demands, none too kindly.

Heris babbles through tears, “Y-You left  _ my sister  _ in there with that t-thing!”

Vulcan stares at her, looks at the Burnish curled around Thyma in the cell, looks back at Heris. He scoffs disbelievingly.

“You  _ idiot _ ,” Heris squalls, “It  _ bit  _ her!”

She lurches out of his arms and starts to flail her fists against the impenetrable wall of his chest again, but this time, he doesn’t respond, staring wordlessly at the sleek black Burnish, the size of a stallion, that has suddenly appeared in the cage. “Those things can  _ bite  _ people and turn them into a Burnish,” he snarls in sudden realization, abruptly shoving Heris off of him and into the nearest wall as he reaches not for his ice gun, but for the pistol holstered on his hip, “We have to destroy them all!”

“N-No!” Heris shrieks, hurling herself at him again, scrambling up his tree-trunk of a ribcage with surprising dexterity for someone in high heels and a pencil skirt, gripping his wrist and dragging the gun back down, “S-She’s my sister, you can’t!”

“It’s not your sister anymore, it’s a Burnish, a monster!” Vulcan shouts. By now, their outburst has attracted attention from around the office, white-coated researchers and armored guards approaching with burning curiosity, only to see their lead scientist dangling like a ragdoll from the colonel’s burly arm while he tries and fails to aim a pistol at the cell. Even if he did fire a shot, it would never make it through the heavily reinforced glass barrier behind the bars.

“N-No, I can...I can figure it out, I can still save her! Aina! Aina!” Heris drops off of Vulcan’s arm and lands on her knees, not feeling the forming bruises as she scrambles across the concrete on her hands and knees to bang her palms against the glass, shrieking her sister’s name - but the Burnish won’t look at her. It remains still, curled around Thyma with its chin rested on her rump, its sleek black back turned towards the scene unfolding outside. Not even Thyma watches them, her slender face buried in Aina’s flank to warm her nose.

Guards lurch forward. Vulcan calls them off with a wave of his arm. “That thing doesn’t have a collar on, it’ll blow this whole place up if you try to go in there now!” 

“S-She’s not a thing!” Heris wails, banging harder on the glass, “Aina! Aina,  _ please!”  _

“Use lethal force!” Vulcan orders, signaling to his men as he cocks his pistol, “These things have to be destroyed! All of them!”

_ “No.” _

A voice calls out crystal-clear through the chaos. The entire room is suddenly chillingly still. 

Heris doesn’t lift her head from where it’s pressed tightly against the glass, her fists still rested lifelessly against it as grief saps the will to fight from her body. She doesn’t have to; she already knows who it is.

Vulcan straightens, instantly resheathing his pistol. His men shrink back around him, parting like the waves around Moses.

Kray Foresight clears his throat, squaring shoulders broader than most door frames and straightening a bright white tie against a brighter, whiter suit, freshly pressed and as well-manicured as his clean-shaven face, thick bushy brows, and slicked-back blonde hair. A strong smell of cologne fills the room as he strides in with the confidence and authority of a king among loyal subjects, researchers and guards parting around him as he approaches the cell to peer inside, brow crinkling. “Ah. I see.”

He offers a hand to Heris, who finally peels her gaze away from Aina - Aina her sister, Aina the  _ Burnish _ \- to look at him, tears brimming wordlessly in her eyes and fogging up her glasses. She hesitates for a moment, then takes it. If anyone will help her, it’s Kray.

“Come along, doctor,” Kray says, helping her to her feet, then casting a comforting arm around her shoulders, bringing her in close as he leads her down the hall, gently guiding her head back towards him when she tries to look back over her shoulder at the cell that houses her sister, “It seems we have much to discuss.”

“But, what about -,” Heris starts.

“Don’t worry,” Kray reassures her, with one of his cunning fatherly smiles, “I’ll take care of it.”

* * *

Thyma trembles in the curl of Aina’s new body - either from cold or from fear, Aina isn’t sure, but she  _ is  _ sure that she never wants to see Thyma shiver like that ever again once they’re out of here. She tenderly grazes her snout along Thyma’s shoulder, twin tongues lapping easily at the slick black hide, feeling the vague shape of scars underneath them. “Don’t worry,” Aina whispers, her voice still strangled and hoarse with newness, “Can’t hurt you here. Won’t let them.”

Thyma grumbles unhappily, shivering. “They’ll kill me for this, was bad idea!”

Aina lifts her head to shake it, two tongues flicking out from between her new set of deadly-sharp fangs, to tenderly flick Thyma on the very tip of her snout. “No,” Aina promises, “Won’t let them.”

Thyma stares back at her eyelessly, wordlessly, and still somehow manages to communicate her disbelief. Aina almost thinks she can smell it on her, her newly reformed olfactory lobe a hundred times more sensitive than her human nose had been. Thyma smells like fear and disease. Gueira, three cells over, smells like honeyed cinnamon and musk, which tells her that Thyma’s smell is distinctly not right. Her new body - and her new brain - are already learning how to be a Burnish, a mere two hours later. The entire thing had happened almost jarringly quick, but she’s glad that it did. She needed this to happen fast. She needed this to work. 

Thyma’s tongues flick out over the wound still weeping on the side of Aina’s throat. The pale skin had felt delicate between her fangs that morning, the jugular fluttering with a pulse that she could have crushed so easily. But now, Aina’s neck is thick with muscle and armored in hard black hide, rippling as she swifts to meet Thyma’s snout with her own. Aina is bigger than Lio or Meis, she’s very nearly the size of Gueira, standing as proud as a well-bred Clydesdale horse. The sudden transition from human to beast should be jarring, terrifying. She should feel too big in her new body, having spent her entire life up until now being small. Instead, she feels like this body is where she’s always been meant to be. She can feel the fire undulate under her skin like a live thing, speaking to her, beckoning to her, until her twin horns, bright yellow and curving delicately back from her crown like a gazelle’s, pulse with energy and embers spark between her matching yellow fangs. She feels alive and energized, the way she once felt charging into burning buildings and containing the flames. Now, she can only think of stoking the fire.

“What if...doesn’t work?” Thyma asks softly, before her head returns to its rest in the curl of Aina’s neck. The collar around her throat bites at her skin and extinguishes her flames, seeping the warmth straight from her core. But, Aina has no collar and no restraints and she burns deliciously hot in the cold cell, drawing Thyma right into the curve of her body. Aina smells exactly like she had as a human, but with the underlying twinge of smoke that all Burnish bear. Thyma inhales her scent deeply, tucking her snout into that soothing warmth. Aina swears she’ll protect her and Thyma has no reason to trust her, but somehow, Aina still manages to make her feel safe.

“Gueira here now,” Aina reassures her, and speaking is the only thing that hasn’t come easily to her so far in this new form, her voice grating against her own ears like gravel or nails on a chalkboard, “Be free soon.”

“What if...not free?” Thyma asks, “Capture you. Capture Gueira. Capture Lio. Make us prisoners. They experiment on you, too. You regret it.”

Aina shushes her with a gentle lick to her forehead, right below the place where Thyma’s own singular horn curves out from her crown. “Never regret it if it helps you,” she grates, as softly and tenderly as she can. She doesn’t know why, but she wants to help Thyma, more than she wants to save her own skin. Maybe she feels responsible because Heris was the one to do this to her, or maybe she’s just appalled to know that a creature as smart as a man has been living in these conditions for thirty years while she merrily went about her own life without knowledge or care. Or maybe she’s just inexplicably drawn to Thyma.

“Why help me?” Thyma wonders.

“Because,” Aina rumbles, “you’re a person.”

Thyma quietens. Aina lifts her head and looks around. She can see the hulking dark shape of Gueira seated on his haunches in his own cell, his own head raised as he takes stock of their surroundings. Many of the guards have scattered in the chaos of Heris’ meltdown, but those that remain are visibly unnerved and on high alert, touting weapons that shoot ice. Colonel Vulcan isn’t here now, but she doubts he’s far. She wishes she could call out to Gueira to ask what’s going on and what their plan is, but the glass barrier this side of the cell bars stifles any sound she tries to make, leaving it to echo around the cage hollowly instead. From what she remembers of their frankly sorry excuse of an escape plan, Lio should have been here too, but the other cells are all empty, and the guards had only brought Gueira when they came. Her mind flickers to Galo rushing in with the gusto and energy he brings to everything, and her heart aches at the thought of what might happen to him when he does. This was a bad idea, every part of it, she’s sure. But, she also knows that, if she had known what was going on in this facility all these years, what her sister refused to speak of at the dinner table no matter how Aina prodded, it would be her charging into this precarious situation unarmed and unprepared, with only the thought of freeing Thyma. Maybe she isn’t the brain cell after all.

Aina feels a rush of cold at her side and Thyma shivers. The collar around her throat has been putting out waves of cold air for hours now, growing steadily chillier until ice crystals are forming on its sleek black surface. Aina noses her snout underneath Thyma’s head now, pushing her chin up so she can study the mechanism more closely.

“Get it off you,” Aina decides, then tries to inch her teeth around the metallic band. It sits so flush to Thyma’s skin that Aina doesn’t know how it isn’t choking her, fitting as tautly as a second skin, too tight for her to get a grip on with her teeth, not without chewing into Thyma’s hide as well. She huffs. “Can I burn you?”

“Burnish don’t burn,” Thyma says in that soft whispery way of hers, the way a spring breeze wafts through newly sprung flowers. 

Aina has to think about it. It isn’t as easy for her as opening her mouth and spouting flames, she has to search for the feeling of the fire within her and slowly draw it up towards her throat, willing it to emerge from between her fangs. When it does, it’s a sad little wisp that dissipates into smoke. She tries again. When that fails, she takes a deep breath and tries a third time.

Third time’s the charm and Aina’s wickedly sharp fangs snap open around a blistering plume of bright pink flames that flicker magenta and teal at their core. The flames dance harmlessly off of Thyma’s black hide, but the collar starts to pop and snap, the material of it melting like ice beneath the intensity of Aina’s flames, until it shorts out with an electric crackle and splits at its core, snapping apart into three pieces that promptly hit the floor around them. Thyma jumps up right away, giving herself a vigorous shake, then gawks at the broken collar on the floor, staring at it like it’s a live thing that’s going to lash out and bite her.

Aina barks with laughter when Thyma snatches a piece of it up and shakes it, growling unhappily as she impales it on her terrible little teeth. Thyma stops when she hears Aina’s laugh, tilting her head at her curiously with the tattered remnants of the collar still hanging from her teeth, before she suddenly sneezes and sends it clattering back down on the floor.

Aina says nothing as Thyma inches towards her. When their skin touches, she can feel that her warmth is already returning, quickly seeping back into her limbs. She doesn’t need to be close to her for warmth now, but she comes anyways, settling down on her stomach beside Aina with her head rested between her shoulder blades. There’s a faint thumping as Thyma’s tail starts to wag. Aina’s wags, too, before she even realizes that it’s wagging. 

There, in the cold of the cell with the imminent threat of Colonel Vulcan and Kray Foresight looming over them, Thyma still finds it in herself to purr. 

* * *

Lio remembers the lab too well. 

This is the place where he was poked and prodded and stabbed and frozen solid. This is the place where the whitecoats would bind him to the cold smooth surfaces of exam tables with chains forged from steel and ice and inject him with the liquid cold that left him motionless and still for hours, a piercing cold seeping deep into his veins until his limbs moved no more than the occasional twitch of his toes and his flames would not answer his call. This is the place where Dr. Ardebit - a strawberry-blonde woman, with skin as pallid as snow and glasses that sat low on the bridge of her snub nose - would slit him from chest to tail, whispering notes into her recorder as she filmed the way his flames surged up around the wound and sealed it closed a moment later, quicker and neater than any suture ever could, until it was as if it had never happened, vanishing without so much as the slightest trace of a scar. 

Even Lio - calm, collected, calculative Lio, who has prided himself on his abilities as a leader since the day he first took up the mantle, when he was chosen to lead the pack Fotia, when the Burnish were still free, an impossibly long time ago, a lifetime away - struggles not to succumb to his baser instincts when his black hide hits the cold stainless steel of the exam table. He swallows hard, throat bobbing. Not yet, he tells himself. Not yet, he tells his flames as the embers surge up into sparks inside of him. Soon, but not now. 

He hears Dr. Heris before he sees her. For as long as he lived, he would never forget the click-clack of her heels on the facility’s tiles, which stank anew of bleach every morning when Lio was brought out from his cell and returned to the lab once more. Click-clack, click-clack, like the approach of the chariot of death, drawn by horses over cobblestones. The sound almost makes him shudder, but he forces himself to hold still. He’s supposed to be unconscious. 

Heris gasps sharply. “It  _ is  _ him,” she says with audible excitement. Lio almost snarls, almost tells her  _ and this will be the last time you ever see me here, this will be the last time you ever inject me, or cut me, or hurt me or my people.  _ Instead, he quietens his flames and remains still. 

Colonel Vulcan is here, too. He had been the one to wheel Lio in on his cart and move him onto the table. Lio had missed a golden opportunity to cleave his ugly head clean off his shoulders in one fell bite when the bastard had scooped him up and moved him, but it would have been too soon. If he struck now, he could put a swift end to Heris and Vulcan, but he would never make it to Foresight before he was subdued again, and then he would be under such high security that he might never have the chance again. He had to wait. His patience -  _ thirty years of it  _ \- would soon be rewarded, as soon as night fell and Galo and Meis came for them.

He almost whines when Heris touches him, featherlight and fingers cold through the thin latex of disposable gloves. No, he refuses himself. He won’t show them fear, no matter how his heart races in his ribcage or his flames flicker with outrage inside him, urging him to use them. Not yet.

It’s always been a blessing and a curse to have no discernible eyes the way men do, because it both means that Lio  _ can  _ watch everything going on around him while pretending to be unconscious, something he frequently did to avoid true sedation many times before his escape, and that he  _ has  _ to. The horrible things that happened here in this lab didn’t happen just to him. Many others had not been so lucky.

He watches, as still as a dead man, as Dr. Heris reaches for a syringe, already prepared, and brings it up to the tender skin just underneath the curve of his jaw, where it’s vulnerable and soft. He swallows hard and braces himself for the pinch of the needle, but it never comes.

Colonel Vulcan’s radio splutters with static, then comes to life,  _ “Colonel Vulcan! We have a situation up here!”  _

Heris withdraws the needle with an annoyed roll of her eyes. Lio exhales a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding, which fortunately goes unnoticed as Vulcan jerks the radio off his belt and holds it up to his lips. 

“What’s going on?” he barks into the receiver.

_ “The Burnish! The little one? The one Dr. Ardebit was working with? There’s another one in the cage with it now!”  _

Vulcan raises a brow. “What do you  _ mean,  _ there’s another one?”

_ “Sir, I mean there are two of them now!” _

Now, it’s Heris’ turn to raise a brow, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose almost comically. “What?” 

Vulcan looks from her to the radio, then huffs a response of, “We’re coming. Where’s Foresight?”

“On his way, sir!” the radio crackles back as Vulcan holds the door for Heris, who starts to click-clack, click-clack down the hall a little faster than usual. The door slams closed behind them, and then Lio is alone.

He lifts his head and looks around, his eyeless gaze immediately settling on a sizable vent cover in the far wall, close to the ceiling. Idiots, he thinks smugly as he allows his flames room to breathe, surging up around him until they swallow him down to ashes and rebuild him much smaller, as a lithe little blonde man who will easily fit inside. But, where his size faded, his strength remains, and he easily jerks the vent cover clean off the wall before he scrambles into the dusty channel through a veil of cobwebs, dropping the metal cover onto the floor behind him. Whatever’s going on, it will buy him some time. He’s going to find Foresight.

The air conditioning swirls around him idly as he crawls through the vents, pausing whenever he comes across another cover to peer out into the rooms below. He sees more whitecoats, scattered around their own stations, and more guards, none of them armed. There are offices, hallways, and a break room with a vending machine, not what he’s looking for. Cobwebs and lint stick to his face and hair and he huffs them away, fighting back a sneeze.

He freezes when he hears screaming. 

It sounds close. He should move in the opposite direction, he knows, but his curiosity won’t spare him the need for a quick glance through the closest vent. It looks out into the holding quarters on the main floor, where he himself had once been kept, among the other Burnish who were labeled  _ high risk  _ for aggression or escape. It looks different now, with all but two of the cells empty and only a quarter of the guards. He can see Gueira squeezed into one of the little cells, seated on his haunches as he watches something with interest. Colonel Vulcan is there - and Heris, too. Heris is the one screaming, he quickly realizes, as she flounders on her hands and knees in front of another cell. 

Lio stares.

There  _ are  _ two Burnish in the cell. One of them he recognizes easily - Thyma, who he hasn’t seen in thirty years, who has grown into an adult in that time but is only half the size she should be. The other, he doesn’t know right away, but it doesn’t take him long to guess.

He shuffles backwards, careful not to make much sound, not that much could be heard over the agony of Heris’ wails, and starts back the way he came. Foresight isn’t here. 

But, Aina sure is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you might've noticed, this chapter is more than a little late - because my poor mental health and severe emotional stress compounded into a minor heart attack a month ago and I've been in recovery! I'm mostly okay now and I feel surprisingly normal for someone who just suffered a cardiac episode at the whopping old age of 23. Please manage your stress better than me, kids! It _will_ kill you! :(
> 
> We're almost at the climax now! One or two more chapters plus an epilogue, and we'll be at the end! :) Next update will be out as I'm able to sit down and write comfortably, but in the meantime, here's a ["Reverse AU" one-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27019468) I wrote where Gueira is the human and Meis is his sexy monster boyfriend, in case you've been missing that sweet, sweet monster smut. ;)


	15. Chapter 15

Night comes.

Meis emerges from his hiding spot on the ridge above the Foresight Pharmaceuticals facility, where the gnarled dead limbs of a Chilean mesquite tree that didn’t survive the previous year’s drought provided some semblance of shade throughout the heat of the Texas summer day. The deserts outside the towering city of Promepolis aren’t hospitable to much, and the solitary tree is just yet another thing that won’t survive its scorching touch. Tucked into the shady hollow at its base, where spring rainstorms and harsh desert winds have eroded the sandy earth away from its roots and formed an opening large enough to fit a man, Galo doesn’t appear to be fairing much better, guzzling the tepid lukewarm contents of their last water bottle before he staggers to his feet and rubs the sleep from his eyes. He passed much of the day sleeping through the stagnant heat, plagued as he was by nightmares of Lio and what he might be encountering inside the facility located in the dip just below them. The sweat that stuck his shirt tight to his skin all day has finally dried, leaving him unpleasantly sticky and with the murmurings of a chill: the days here are hot, but the nights are cold. Galo looks down to see his arms now peppered with gooseflesh, but maybe the chill inching up his spine isn’t from the cold, but from fear.

“Ready?” Meis prompts, already waiting for him on the ridge, his one remaining eye focused unsteadily on the unassuming concrete building and its electric fence below. The facility doesn’t have windows, but there’s light leaking out from around its main entrance, now tightly sealed behind a pleated metal barrier, like the sliding door to a storage unit. More light leaks out from around the side door, which is now crisscrossed with yellow caution tape. There’s an imposing pickup truck parked underneath one of the twin floodlights out front, flanked on one side by a sleek, black luxury sports car that wasn’t there this morning. It isn’t alone; a black freight cab dragging a nondescript metal trailer with a grocery chain’s logo printed on the side now looms behind the facility, its tailgate turned down as if it’s preparing for a load.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Galo remarks, squinting at the building through the oppressive desert darkness, “That’s Kray’s car.”

That’s a name Meis has heard a few times now, but still doesn’t understand the full significance of. “The pharmacist guy?” he asks.

Galo nods, more to himself than to Meis. “Yeah, and he’s also my father figure and the man allegedly responsible for a genocide, so jot that one down.” 

Meis almost laughs, not because it’s funny, but because the irony of it almost punches the air clean out of his lungs. Of all the people in Promepolis that Lio could have potentially bumped into, it had to be Galo. “Daddy problems much?”

“Guess I’ll have fun sorting through all that later,” Galo replies, surprisingly nonchalant, “Right now, Lio needs me. I’ll deal with Kray later.”

“If this Kray’s in there,” Meis says, jerking a thumb towards the facility, “We might have to deal with him  _ right now.  _ Are ya really prepared if it comes to that?”

Galo stops, midway down the sandy slope, and blinks blearily. In the short time that he’s known him, it’s the saddest Meis has ever seen him, even if it’s just a flicker of dread behind those big blue eyes of his before they’re brightening up again. He sees the other man’s chest swell as he inhales deeply, then deflate with his exhale. “Yeah. Yeah, I have to be. It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Meis says, falling into step beside him as Galo starts to walk again, “But he ain’t  _ my  _ dad.”

Galo shakes his head, inching up to the outer fence now. It was electrified the last time he saw it, but he knows right away that it’s not now, its former crackle silenced by the gaping hole in its looming black perimeter where Gueira had broken in before. “He’s not mine, either. I might have liked to call him that someday, but that was before I found out what he was doing to Lio, to the Burnish. I don’t think I could  _ ever  _ think of him as family now, even if he...even if he was all the family I ever really had.”

Meis shudders with a sigh. “Yeah, that’s...that’s rough,” he concedes, “But we can talk about that later. Right now, we gotta get in there. What’s the plan?”

Galo stares back at him blankly. 

Meis sighs again. “We’re both  _ so  _ stupid, y’know that?” he laments, angling his one eye around to glance at the side door where it hangs haphazardly from its hinges, behind a flimsy plastic barrier of yellow caution tape. Black scorch marks erupt from around its frame, disappearing into the glimpse of hallway he can see on the other side. Clearly, Gueira and Lio had been here. “What’re the chances we get caught if we just go in this way?”

“They’ll have guards posted, but…,” Galo says, before pointedly glancing up, towards the facility’s flat concrete roof, where he could see the stark blocky shape of a central heating and air unit, humming faintly in the night, “I saw a floodlight right above the main lobby last time I was here, and I’m guessing there’s also a maintenance shaft to enter the air vents up there. Breaking in through the window will make noise, attract attention. But we’ll fit in the vents.”

“Really, even a big guy like you?” Meis prompts.

“Yeah, I’ve done it before, that’s how I got out when Kray...when I was here last,” Galo replies, glancing away quickly and pretending to be studying the featureless concrete wall in front of them. The facility’s lower floor is concealed underground like a basement, giving it the appearance of having only one floor from the outside; as a result, the roof is fairly low, but with no windowsills or other handholds, it will still be difficult to reach from the ground. “Want me to give you a boost?” he asks Meis, who shakes his head.

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Meis says, and then steel-blue tongues of flame are licking up his bare calves and thighs and swallowing his figure whole. The fire subsides a moment later with a fizzle of smoke, leaving an obsidian black beast with a devil’s sneer full of glaring yellow teeth and six insectoid legs in his place. He hunkers down, expectantly silent until Galo understands and throws a leg over his back, straddling him. Galo grips tightly to one of the elongated neural spines sprouting from Meis’ back as the man-turned-Burnish crouches low, then suddenly springs into the air like he was fired from a cannon. He’s halfway up the smooth concrete wall in an instant, scrambling up the sleek surface even without handholds to grip onto, scuttling like the world’s most terrifying spider until he’s clambering onto the rooftop. 

“Whoa!” Galo whisper-shouts, before Meis shushes him with a soft snarl and hunkers down for him to dismount. Galo climbs off him and, in a wicked-hot flash of flame, he’s human again, totally naked except for the piercings that still cling to the shells of his ears and the one ring in his septum. Galo has long since forgotten the decency to look away, unbothered after spending the entire day with him. Carefully creeping along the concrete rooftop in search of the entryway to the maintenance shaft, Meis’ indecency is the last thing on his mind, which can focus only on the fear that, somewhere below them, Lio is chained to an exam table while Aina’s mad scientist of a sister saws him open while he cries out in pain. 

Meis sees the anxiety in his eyes and tentatively clasps a hand over his shoulder. Galo jumps, startled. “Sorry,” Meis mumbles, “But don’t worry. It’s gonna be okay, yeah? Gueira’s in there somewhere, too, an’ he’s probably the toughest thing on god’s green earth. We just gotta find ‘im an’ it’ll be smooth sailin’ from there, right?”

“Right,” Galo agrees, even though Meis sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself as much as he is Galo. A few more steps and he finds the trap-door entrance to the maintenance shaft, padlocked closed. Meis succumbs to his flames once more, and then heats the metal with his fiery breath until his scythe-like claws can slice through it like hot butter. He transforms back into a man once more, finding the shift between Burnish and human easier each time, while Galo pries the trap-door open as quietly as he can.

The two exchange a glance, and then Galo drops down into the empty air shaft. It’s cramped, his broad shoulders claustrophobic in the tight metal shaft, and he’s greeted with a faceful of cobwebs caked with many years’ worth of dust as he settles onto his hands and knees. Meis climbs in behind him, sparse moonlight streaming into the dark shaft from above them, lighting up the spot where the trap-door still stands open. “Do ya happen to have a flashlight on you?” Meis whispers into the muggy darkness.

“Phone’s in my back pocket,” Galo whispers back. Meis reaches in and retrieves it for him, flipping on the flashlight function and shining it ahead of them. The LED beam reaches only a few feet ahead of them in the air shaft and the battery’s half-dead, but it will have to do. “Follow me,” Galo says as he starts to crawl, picking his way along slowly, around the crumpled-up carcasses of dead spiders and curtains of cobwebs that decorate the dark chamber.

“Right behind ya, big guy,” Meis says, crawling awkwardly on one hand while the other holds Galo’s phone.

The going is slow. It isn’t long before the two encounter an intersection of four air shafts, panning out into other parts of the facility. Galo stops, considering carefully, before he continues straight ahead. Meis guesses that they’re venturing along the back wall of the facility. The next time they reach a crossroads, there’s sickly yellow light streaming in through the slats of a vent cover below. Galo pauses to peer down between the slats, squinting in the sudden brightness. “Looks like an office,” he says, then starts to turn right.

“Wait,” Meis says, squinting into the office below. 

“What is it?” Galo asks in a hushed whisper. 

Meis closes his one eye and inhales deeply. “I smell somethin’.” 

Meis hears Galo start to snort with how hard he’s inhaling, but his human nose can only smell the musty dampness of the air shaft. Being Burnish is still novel and new to Meis, but in the short time since Gueira bit him, he’s already started to feel comfortable in his new skin. It’s strange, feeling the fire constantly simmering just beneath the surface of his skin, ready and eager to surge up whenever he needs it. Sometimes, he hears it in his mind like a voice, beckoning for him to burn harder, stronger, brighter. Other times, he feels it deep in his gut like an anger so great that it gives him a bellyache. Already, he senses that the Burnish exist on the very edge of control, always teetering so close to just giving into that deep-seated desire to burn. To Meis, it’s powerful, dangerous, wonderful. 

The fire isn’t the only thing he had to quickly adjust to. Since Gueira bit him, his senses have been permanently dialed up to a hundred, like he’s suddenly seeing the entire world through a magnifying glass when he’s only ever seen it from afar until now. He was disappointed when he realized that his advanced healing abilities wouldn’t retroactively regrow his missing eye, but he’s found that he almost doesn’t need it now. His ears are eagle-sharp; just ahead of him, he can hear the pounding of Galo’s heart in his chest, the throb of blood as it pumps through his veins, the beating of breath in his lungs. His vision is neither better nor worse; though he’s still blind on one side, he can always see the dim fuzzy outline of living things now, picking up on their heat signatures even when he’s human. But, most of all, he can smell as well as a bloodhound, the faintest twitch of his nostrils picking up a sickly-sweet aroma nearby. It almost smells rancid, rotten, like roadkill. 

“Move,” Meis grunts softly, squeezing underneath Galo. He could just barely fit underneath the other man on his hands and knees, wriggling until he reemerged in front of him, giving Galo an unfortunate faceful of his bare backside before he gave him a patient push forward.

“Please get your dick out of my face, thanks,” Galo quietly pleads, swatting him away, “What do you smell?”

“Nothin’ good,” Meis grunts, nostrils flaring as he tracks the smell to the next intersection, where he takes the shaft on their right. He passes over several vent covers that overlook the rooms below, all shiny-white and pristine, like doctor’s offices. Underneath it all, there’s the sickeningly strong smell of bleach and antiseptic. Something about it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Something about it feels  _ wrong.  _ The flames inside him start to flicker, beckoning for him to turn back and run. 

Meis is following the scent so intently that he almost forgets Galo is still behind him until he stops at the next two-way intersection and the other man runs right into him, making him grunt. But, Meis remains silent, shock-still as he stares down through the empty hole in the ceiling where the vent cover used to be into the examination room before.

Something dark and still lays in the middle of the floor, the stark-white tiles streaked ebony-black with something so viscous that it can only be blood. Across from him, something smaller and thinner lays, just as dark and just as bloody.

Meis’ breath catches in his throat.

Behind him, Galo pipes up, “What? What is it?” 

Meis doesn’t answer him.

“Meis,” Galo tries again, “What’s down there?” 

Meis still doesn’t respond. There’s a sinking feeling in Galo’s chest as his heart drops down into his stomach, before he’s shoving Meis away to haphazardly squeeze in around him.

The view beneath them makes him shrink back with a sharp gasp, tears already pricking at the corners of his eyes. His lips tremble and he feels himself start to shake. Meis reaches for him before he can start to sob, one arm dragging him in close for a hug while the other claps over his mouth to silence him.

The shape on the floor is what’s left of Lio. 

* * *

_ Several hours earlier… _

Lio has to act quickly. It won’t be long until Dr. Ardebit returns to her lab and realizes that he’s gone - although her screaming episode in the corridor had been a welcome distraction to the dozen or so security guards he knew to be on site at the facility. He sends a silent thanks down to Aina, where she now hunkers in the cramped confines of her cell in the body of a Burnish, and carries on through the airways. He needs to find Kray - and fast.

He’s already checked the places where he might have expected to find him - the main lobby, the high-security corridor where Gueira, Thyma, and Aina are imprisoned in their cells, the two main labs - but Kray is nowhere to be found. He tries his damnedest to sniff him out, but Kray has always been eerily adept at masking his scent, making him difficult to track through a facility that already reeks of antiseptic and bleach. Lio silently curses him and creeps on, when a commotion down the shaft to his left catches his attention. Voices. Kray’s voice; Dr. Ardebit is with him, her voice choking and cracking with ragged sobs.

As silent as the summer breeze, Lio creeps up to the vent above them, peering down into the room below. It’s an empty office space, vacant except for the company-issued metal desk, a swivel chair, and a single filing cabinet tucked into the far corner. The door is closed. Dr. Ardebit is cornered, Kray’s huge arms caging her in on both sides as he looms over her. 

“You are to tell  _ no one  _ about this,” Kray says, “No one can know about your sister, or the fact that Burnish can spread their rancid disease to people by biting them.  _ No one  _ can know that that bastard Lio bit me, understood?”

“B-But Aina --,” Heris starts, only for Kray to silence her when he grips her fragile jaw in one huge hand, squeezing hard enough to hurt. 

“Am I  _ understood?”  _ he demands.

Heris wriggles helplessly in his grasp, until he suddenly drops her, sending her sinking down the wall he’s caged her against and crumpling onto her knees on the laminate tiles. “Y-Yes, sir,” she answers weakly. Lio might have felt bad for her, if she were anyone but Dr. Ardebit.

“You and your guards will be sworn to secrecy before leaving this building today,” Kray tells her, “And if you dare breathe a word of this to  _ anyone  _ who didn’t witness it here today, I will  _ kill  _ you, are we clear?”

Heris’ throat bobs when she swallows, her jawline purple with bruises. “Yes, sir,” she says, straightening her glasses up on the bridge of her nose.

“Get back to work,” Kray orders, “I want those Burnish ready for transport in six hours. This location is compromised.”

Heris hesitates, then meekly glances up at him through her glasses, their glare obscuring her teary eyes. “What’s going to happen to Aina?”

“The same as the others,” Kray says, “She made her choice. If she wants to be a Burnish so badly, then she can suffer like a Burnish, too.”

Heris is quiet, the fingers of one hand knotted in her shirt collar as she glances away. Kray grabs her by the jaw again, forcing her to look at him, and growls, “Is that going to be a  _ problem,  _ Dr. Ardebit? Or would you like to join her in that cell?” 

“N-No, sir,” Heris whimpers, “I’ll get b-back to work right away. The Burnish will be ready for the transport by nightfall.” 

“See to it that it’s done,” Kray warns her, dropping her on the floor once before. Heris scrambles to her feet quickly, not even bothering to smooth the wrinkles out of her pencil skirt before she scurries out the door and slams it shut behind her.

Lio listens until the click-clack, click-clack of her high heels vanishes down the hallway.

Kray is alone.

Lio takes his chance.

Kray shouts in alarm when the vent cover suddenly strikes him in the back of the head, disheveling his perfectly greased blonde hair, seconds before Lio descends on him. The petite man is an enormous black beast before his finger-like claws ever connect with the hard muscle of Kray’s shoulders, fire erupting from his throat in a glowering turquoise pillar of flame, accented with vibrant magenta at its center. Kray yowls in pain when Lio’s vicious claws find their mark, but the flames don’t burn him, because they can’t.

Huge white hind limbs bulging with muscle hard as steel kick and buck like a bronco as the flames tear out of Kray and transform him into a Burnish, easily three times Lio’s size.

Undaunted, Lio sinks his claws in deeper and holds on tight, his hind limbs scrambling for a handhold on Kray’s slick white hide. Kray is covered in an armor thicker even than Gueira’s, with scutes towering a full foot up from his spine, like a pitfall full of sharpened wooden spikes ready to sink into Lio’s tender underbelly if he comes in too close.

_ “You,”  _ Kray roars into the empty office space, rearing up on his forelimbs and kicking Lio off of his back with a hard strike of his shining gold hooves. Lio yelps as he’s dislodged, the hard kick hitting him squarely in the stomach and sending him flying, body clattering across the nearby desktop and landing in a heap behind it. He’s on his feet in an instant, adrenaline and fire pumping hot in his veins, ready to go again.

“Careful, Foresight,” Lio snarls through bared fluorescent teeth, glinting bright white in the sickly yellow light, the sparse line of fur that runs from the back of his neck to his tail tip standing on end, “Your lackeys might hear you and come running. It would be a shame if they discovered that their own boss is a  _ Burnish _ , wouldn’t it?”

Kray falls for the taunt and comes barreling towards him with a furious bellow, crashing clean through the wood-and-metal desk and shattering it into splinters with his massive bulk. Lio is faster and scrambles out of the way just in time, sending Kray careening unceremoniously into the office’s back wall. That only stokes his ire further, the massive white beast whirling around to snap at Lio with a vicious mouthful of dagger-sharp teeth, set into his maw in jagged rows like a shark’s with three blood-red tongues waggling between them.

Lio scrambles backwards to avoid that vicious bite, swatting Kray across the snout with one heavily clawed forelimb, while his tail cracks like a whip against the linoleum behind him. Saliva scatters across the white tiles as Kray makes another dive for him, but he’s slow, clumsy, unpracticed. He doesn’t know how to be a Burnish. 

Lio does.

The smaller Burnish turns on his ankles, bringing his thick prehensile tail around his body with enough force to shatter glass as he cracks it against Kray’s jaw. The impact registers with the sickening snap of bone, blood splattering from Kray’s gaping maw as he staggers from the force of Lio’s blow. Lio gives him no chance to recover, his own vicious maw snapping closed around those three blood-red tongues, teeth cleaving through them like hot butter before he spits them out on the floor, where they wriggle like snakes for a moment before going still and starting to disintegrate into ash.

“Good,” Lio snarls as Kray’s blood drips from between his fangs, staining them red, “I was getting tired of hearing your mouth, Kray Foresight.”

Kray gags on his own blood momentarily, and then his Burnish healing abilities are surging up, flames encircling his jaw haphazardly as he tries to heal it, the remaining stubs of his tongues beginning to rapidly regrow. Lio doesn’t intend to give him that chance.

The last time he met Kray Foresight in combat, Lio had sprung at him with jaws open wide and cleaved his left arm clean out of its socket, ripping it out at the shoulder and dropping it on the floor in front of him. Kray had been human then, and he hadn’t had the rapid healing abilities of the Burnish bloodline to save him as blood rushed from his wound like a fountain, staining the white tiles of the lab brilliant red as Lio closed in for the kill.

Lio remembers the fear in Kray’s eyes, the knowledge that he was beaten, that he had lost. And then he remembers Dr. Ardebit screaming and Colonel Vulcan shouting wordlessly before a cannonball made of ice punched a hole straight through his ribcage, narrowly missing his heart, and sent him sprawling across the blood-slick floor with his bones splintering out of him. There had been another shot and then silence, as an all-encompassing cold surrounded him, drowning out the simmer of his flames and plunging him into darkness.

When he had woken, he was alone.

Now, Kray is Burnish - courtesy of Lio’s own vicious bite, the same bite which had taken his left arm, which has since been replaced by a clunky metallic prosthetic. But, whether he’s able to heal himself or not, this time, Vulcan isn’t here to save him.

Lio watches Kray stumble, uncoordinated on his prosthetic limb, the metal unwieldy and heavy, as his tongues regenerate and his jaw straightens itself out and clicks back into place with a sickening snap. Yet again, he takes his chance.

When Lio dives for Kray’s throat, Kray takes his, too. 

Lio shrieks as Kray’s fangs catch him around the throat, clamping down on his spine almost hard enough to crush it. Lio has the sense not to writhe; if he moves, Kray’s teeth will sink even deeper into his throat. He tries to fight back with his claws, clambering to find purchase on Kray’s armored white hide, but he already knows it’s no use. Kray’s armor is too thick wherever his claws can reach. He’s trapped, caught like a rabbit in a snare.

The snare tightens. Kray bites down and Lio feels the sensation leave his limbs and his entire body go limp as his spine snaps.

Kray drops him. Lio hits the bloody tiles like a ragdoll, his limbs folded unnaturally underneath him. He thinks he might yelp, but he isn’t sure. 

Kray laughs from where he looms over him, flames glowing red in the back of his throat as smoke streams out from the corners of his lips, curled up around a devil’s sneer full of glinting white teeth. “Lio of the pack Fotia!” he snarls in delighted disgust, “I’m surprised to see you alive. A shame that all your efforts are going to be for naught - but, thank you for bringing me a few extra Burnish for Dr. Ardebit to work with in your stead. Some  _ leader _ you turned out to be.”

Lio tries to speak, but only coughs up a mouthful of his own blood, which splatters across the tiles like an oil slick, obsidian-black and iridescent.

“You’re a fool, Lio Fotia,” Kray taunts, “You had your chance at freedom, but no, you had to be the hero and come back here to try and save a single sniveling Burnish! You must fancy yourself a selfless leader, but you’re nothing but an  _ idiot  _ to come back here and pick a fight with me. Did you  _ really  _ think it would be that simple?”

Lio gags. He can feel fluid filling his lungs. Blood, he instinctively knows. He’s drowning in his own blood, as it surges from the gaping wound in his throat. He tries to summon his flames, tries to heal himself, but is alarmed to find that he can’t. No matter how he calls, his fire won’t answer. The wound won’t seal. The flow of blood won’t ebb.

“Looks like someone’s fire has finally gone out,” Kray laughs, “Thanks to  _ you,  _ Lio Fotia, I’m the most powerful Burnish left on earth! My flames are  _ invincible!”  _

Through the thick veil of dread that’s starting to settle over Lio as the darkness creeps in, his heart sinks. Kray is right. He never should have bitten him. He never should have turned him into a Burnish. He was foolish to ever think that being a Burnish himself would suddenly change Kray’s point of view. He would only use his newfound strength to commit further atrocities. He would only use it to hurt the other Burnish. Lio had failed them.

Lio feels a hot breath come over him in his final moments, as his heat vision starts to fade into empty blackness. It’s Kray, hovering over him with blood and saliva dripping from between his vicious white fangs. “An eye for an eye, Lio Fotia,” he snarls. Lio hears something snap and pop sickeningly, but barely feels his left forearm being pried out of its socket and tossed aside, where it twitches with a mind of its own on the tiles a few feet away.

Blood-red flames envelop Kray, burning him down into ashes and rebuilding him anew as a blonde man, where they settle instead in the ruby-red irises of his evil eyes. He sneers, kicking Lio in the stomach one more time for good measure, reveling in this small victory before he returns to his work, but he knows Lio doesn’t feel it. The Burnish is already dead.

“Goodbye, Lio of the pack Fotia,” Kray says as he turns to leave, pointedly locking and closing the door behind him, “Good riddance, once and for all.” 

* * *

Meis holds Galo until his sobs subside, then watches as the blue-haired man drops down through the empty hole in the ceiling and into the office below. The desk is overturned and there’s a sizable indentation in the wall, either where the desk hit it on its way down or something quite large crashed into it. The entire room smells sickly-sweet like decay, like the rot has already set in on Lio’s body where it lays in a crumpled heap in the corner, across from a severed black arm that’s started to turn silvery-grey around the edges where the flesh is flicking away into paper-thin sheets of ash. Underneath the smell of rot, there’s the faint aroma of something burning, like the smell of a fuse right before it ignites.

Galo crawls over to Lio on his hands and knees, palms trembling as he tentatively reaches for the black Burnish beast, gathering his huge head in his hands with a wordless sob. Lio’s head lolls sickeningly to one side; his neck is broken, crushed by some truly massive bite that has left a gaping wound in his throat, the blood oozing from it gone sticky as it’s started to dry. Galo sobs again, cradling Lio’s limp muzzle against his chest as he hugs him, blood dripping sticky-wet down the front of his tee shirt and staining it black. 

“I don’t understand,” Meis breaks the silence from where he now stands behind Galo, eying the severed arm beside him with horrified morbid curiosity, unable to peel his gaze away, “Why didn’t ‘is fire heal ‘im…?

“I...I don’t know,” Galo answers hoarsely, “But it didn’t. It didn’t save him.”

Galo is whimpering between his tears as he cradles Lio’s head to his chest, fingertips tenderly swiping the stray droplets of blood off of his cheeks even when it does Lio no good now. One drop evades him, tracking down Lio’s black hide to the gaping wound in his neck, where it beads on the ragged edge of the hole before ebbing away into all the others. Galo sobs, stroking gently along the side of his partner’s torn throat, right through the tacky blood dried black on the wound, as he wordlessly tells him goodbye. 

When his palm comes away from Lio’s neck, Galo is startled to see that it’s stained bright crimson red. But Lio’s blood is black, iridescent where it’s half-dried on the floor all around them. He’s seen Lio bleed before - from thorn snags, from papercuts back in his apartment, from the time he tried to help Galo make dinner once and slipped the tip of a knife across his fingertip - and his blood has never once been red, not even when he was in human form. 

“That’s not right…,” Galo says, more to himself than to Meis, as he traces the one trickle of red back to the wound in Lio’s neck. There’s a ragged semicircle of puncture wounds in Lio’s hide on either side of his neck - two of them substantially larger than the others. It’s from these that the crimson-red substance is oozing, dripping down to mingle with the black blood that trickles from all the others. It’s not blood, Galo realizes as he trails a fingertip through it, finding it to be thinner and less sticky. He winces, giving his hand a panicked shake when it suddenly starts to burn. He wipes it off on the chest of his ruined tee shirt, curiosity momentarily distracting him from his grief. “There’s something in the wound,” he says, “It’s not blood.”

“Then, what the hell is it?” Meis asks, bringing the flashlight on Galo’s cellphone up to cast its light on the wound, studying it cryptically.

“I...I don’t know,” Galo says, “Could it be something Aina’s sister made? Something that stopped him from...stopped him from healing?” He swallows hard, promptly reminded that it’s his lover’s dead body in his hands.

“I dunno, maybe,” Meis muses as he studies the wound. It’s a half-moon of puncture wounds, two of them visibly deeper and leaking something milky and red and - 

His mind flashes back to his childhood days spent on the family farm back in Texas, to his estranged father reminding him to watch for rattlesnakes before he ventured into the woods to play cowboys with his sister. 

“I think it’s venom,” he realizes with a start, pointing to the two leaking wounds, “See how these two are deeper? That’s where the longest fangs went in an’ injected it. Like a rattlesnake.”

“Venom?” Galo parrots, “What in here could be  _ venomous?” _

Meis sniffs once. “‘Nother Burnish, apparently.”

“Another Burnish did this?” Galo asks, “But, Burnish aren’t venomous, are they?”

Shrugging, Meis replies, “Dunno, none o’ the ones I know are. Doesn’t mean it don’t happen.” 

“Lio told me awhile ago that Burnish can only be killed in three ways: trauma to the heart, trauma to the brain, or by being blown up,” Galo says, “The venom must have, you know. Gotten to his heart or brain.” He breaks off in another sob, his cheeks puffy-red with dried tears.

“Looks like somethin’ broke ‘is neck,” Meis notes, “but his fire should’ve healed ‘im. I don’t get it.” He watches Lio’s chest closely for a few moments. It’s no longer rising or falling. Lio isn’t breathing.

But, his sensitive newly-Burnish hears are still picking up on something. A flutter, whisper-quiet, almost imperceptible even to him. Puzzled, Meis lowers his head and presses his cheek to Lio’s ribcage, which is easily reached with his limb torn off, leaving a gaping bloody wound where it should have connected to his shoulder joint. 

Inside the cavern of Lio’s chest, Meis hears the faintest suggestion of a heartbeat. “Oh god,” he says, jerking his head away, “Galo, he’s  _ alive.”  _

Galo stares at him for a moment, processing, then manages a weak, “What…?”

“His heart’s beatin’,” Meis says, gesturing for Galo to lean down and listen. Galo hesitates, giving Meis a glance that suggests he’s worried that he’s giving him false hope, then bends forward and presses an ear to Lio’s ribcage.

The heartbeat is faint, but it’s unmistakably there.

Galo reels backwards, the tears that bubble up from his big blue eyes now tears of relief. “Oh god. Oh god, he’s still alive,” he whispers softly but urgently, “Meis, what do we do?” 

Meis looks at him, cocking a brow, now slightly less well-manicured after several days spent in a jail cell, in a torture chamber, and out in the desert. “I dunno. Ain’t you a paramedic?”

“I’m a firefighter,” Galo corrects him, “But yeah, I’ve been taking some courses. But uh, none of them cover...this.”

Meis thinks about it. “Mama used to say, if one o’ us ever got bit by a rattlesnake, someone needed to suck out the venom.”

“Meis, I think that’s a myth,” Galo laments.

“Yeah, sure, but this wasn’t no rattlesnake,” Meis reasons, badly, “So, maybe it’s worth a shot?” 

Galo is at a loss. “If it’s venom, it must’ve penetrated too quickly and too deeply by now for one of us to suck hard enough to get it out. The blood’s started to dry already, so he’s been here awhile.”

“So, he needs an anti-venom,” Meis supposes, thinking out loud now.

“Antivenin,” Galo corrects, “But, no one knows about the Burnish besides the people in this facility, so what are the chances one even exists?”

Meis whacks him on the back of the neck, hard. “Shuddup an’ suck, I’m outta ideas an’ Lio needs us.”

Whining, Galo shrinks down towards the gaping wound in Lio’s throat, tacky-wet around its edges. “Okay, okay, but if this makes it worse, I’m holding  _ you  _ accountable, you jerk,” he grumbles, then presses his lips tight around the first fang-mark, wincing internally at the taste. It’s rancid and disgusting, but if it saves Lio, it’s more than worth a little unpleasantry. He sucks hard, wincing again when he feels fresh blood surge out into his mouth, pulling away only long enough to spit it out on the floor beside him before he starts to suck again. 

It’s several mouthfuls of blackish blood before Meis starts to see a streaky viscous redness mixed in with the puddles Galo spits out across the tiles. Still, his heart sinks when he realizes that it’s not nearly enough.

Galo’s lips are looking vaguely white with nausea, beneath a cast of tacky blood, when Meis finally puts a hand on his shoulder. “Stop. That ain’t workin’, we gotta think of somethin’ else,” he says, threading his fingers through his desert-tousled hair in frustration, “I just don’t get it. His flames shoulda healed ‘im, right? His heart’s still beatin’, so why ain’t his fire mendin’ his wounds?”

Galo is trying not to throw up, with the sharp tang of Lio’s blood fresh in his mouth. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, smearing it with black. “I don’t know. I’m not trained in Burnish first aid, y’know.”

“Okay, well, what would ya do in this situation if he was human?” Meis asks.

“He’s unconscious and not breathing, so I would probably start with CPR,” Galo says, “But if he’s been laying here for hours, I don’t know how much that’s gonna help.”

Meis looks at Lio, motionless and maimed on the floor. It’s a death unfitting for a king. “Try it,” he says, desperation beginning to leak into his voice, “Please. Just try it.”

Galo thumps on Lio’s ribcage gently with two fingers. “Huh. Sounds like there’s something in his lungs, but it’s not air, so...I’m guessing they’re filling up with blood from his neck wound. It must’ve flowed down his esophagus while he was still breathing and he inhaled it.”

“We can theorize all we want later,” Meis reminds him, “Right now, let’s save Lio.”

Galo pays him no attention, thumping on Lio’s ribcage again and listening to how full his lungs sound. He zones out for a moment, thinking intently. “Hey, if he’s not breathing, how has his heart not stopped?”

Meis shrugs. “‘Cause he’s a Burnish?”

“Meis, what do you mean?” Galo demands, gears slowly starting to turn.

“I mean, Burnish don’t...uh, how do I explain this?” Meis is rubbing his temples. “I ‘unno exactly how it works, ‘cause I ain’t been Burnish very long, but they -  _ we _ \- don’t breathe air as much as they breathe...fire? I know we still breathe air, ‘cause I can feel myself breathing it in an’ outta my lungs. But...I feel like I could hold my breath for a real long time an’ be okay. ‘Cause the air is more like...a catalyst for the fire? But it’s the fire that keeps ‘em alive, not the oxygen.” 

“Burnish need their fire to live, and Lio’s flames didn’t heal him…,” Galo considers, “So...his fire’s gone out.”

Meis shrugs again. “I dunno if that can happen, but your guess is as good as mine.”

“Maybe all he needs is a spark,” Galo says, then looks at Meis with an unexpected grin, “I’m a firefighter, and I’m about to say something crazy.”

Meis quirks a brow. “Nothin’ crazier than everything else that’s happened this week, I’m sure.”

Galo gestures from Meis to Lio, gently lowering his huge black head back to the tiles and parting his jaws with both hands, sweeping his tongues out of his overcrowded airway.

“Let’s start a fire.”

* * *

Lio is gone. The lab is empty. And Heris isn’t altogether surprised.

She knows enough about the rogue Burnish to know that he wouldn’t intentionally come back to the facility if he didn’t already have a plan to get himself back out. She already knows that he and the big red one - Gueira, she thinks, if her memory serves her correctly - are here for Thyma. So long as one Burnish remained here, it was inevitable that Lio would eventually come back for them. It was in his nature to play hero and Heris knew that - in fact, she had been counting on it when she kept Thyma alive all those years ago. She had always known that, someday, her prized test subject would return. For thirty years, she had been patient - and now the day has finally come.

And Heris wishes so much that it hadn’t.

The morning’s excitement has ebbed away into the silent throb of terror. Her mind is full, but her heart is empty, plagued only by the knowledge that Aina - her Aina, her little sister, who she had raised from the time she was six, who was the only family she had ever known since the passing of their parents many years ago and the only thing she cared about outside of this lab - is now a Burnish. The very thing she had sworn to protect until the day she drew her dying breath was now the thing this facility sought to torture and ultimately destroy, after Kray had wrung all he could from them and made his fortune from their suffering.

Heris had never cared until now. What kind of person that made her, she already knew. It had been easy to ignore the Burnish’s humanity until now - even when Thyma, then a whimpering cub with a fuzzy coating of downy fur and no teeth or claws, had nestled into her chest and keened like Heris was her own mother after draining a bottle of formula. Heris had known almost from the beginning what the Burnish truly were: as human as human could be. And she had made the choice to ignore it. It was easier, when she pretended they were only animals, no better than the lab rats and white rabbits she had run her tests on at her previous job. She could always just pretend - until now.

Now, how could she? 

Aina is Burnish now, and Heris has spent her entire life knowing that Aina is human. Even when she had seen her hunkered down in her cell in the body of a Burnish, Heris still knew she was human. She could never think of Aina as anything else, as anything other than her sister, no matter the form she took. Burnish or not, Heris could never do to Aina what she had spent the past thirty years doing to Thyma, and many more before that doing to the Burnish before her, now nothing but ashes after Kray had ordered their bodies to be incinerated. 

Heris thinks about that day - the day the Burnish had died. The entire facility was singing with screams and yelps and shrieks as ice cannons blasted holes through ribcages and painted the linoleum black with blood. The air reeked of gun powder and the metallic tang of blood, growing more rancid as insides were spilled. Many of her prized experiments were soon in pieces, damaged well beyond what their bodies could heal, wheezing weakly at her feet as she stepped around them in her high heels to find Kray, to plead with him to spare just one, to spare just Lio, so she could continue her work on him. He would hear none of it. He answered only by ordering Colonel Vulcan to kill him. 

Heris sinks onto her hands and knees on the bleached white linoleum, choking on a sob. What would she do now, if that was the same fate meant for Aina? Just because she was a Burnish now, was Heris supposed to forget that she was her sister, that she was once human? Did her being Burnish overrule her humanity to Vulcan, to Kray, to  _ her?  _

It did for Thyma. 

Heris thinks back to her last conversation with Aina, just that morning. Aina had been furious with her, her jaw still throbbing vaguely from where Aina had punched her. Heris thinks she never deserved something more in her life right now.

She stands up, gathering her bearings and sliding her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, the lenses now muddy with tears both fresh and dried. She takes a deep breath and steels her resolve, hurrying over to her desk to quickly rummage through the locked lower drawer for the secret spare key card she’s always kept there, just in case.

She still has a chance to do one good thing in her life - but she has to move fast.

* * *

Something is wrong. Gueira can sense it.

He sulks across the cold metallic floor of his cell, back and forth, back and forth, his tail tip flicking in agitation behind him. The cell is so small that, for him, it’s more like turning in circles than it is pacing. He pauses only long enough to count the guards. There are thirteen of them posted in the corridor, half in front of him and half in front of Thyma and Aina, who have hardly budged in the past few hours. Maybe they’re asleep. That might not sound like a bad idea to him either, if it weren’t for the sinking feeling in his depths that  _ something is wrong.  _

There are no windows or skylights in this part of the facility - they’re strictly limited to the front lobby, where only the secretary sits - but his internal clock tells him that it’s late, well past nightfall. Where are Galo and Meis? Where is Lio? He should have seen some sign of them by now. Something’s amiss and he knows it. 

He thinks about trying to call out to Thyma and Aina, but he already knows that they can’t hear him through the tight refrigerator seal on both their cells, and that it would only rile up the guards and set them even more on edge. Already, they’re uneasy. Even the double-barrier and seal on his cell can’t hide the sharp stench of their fear. They’re nervous. He’s sensed it in them since Kray Foresight appeared. Thirty years ago, it had been an uncommon sight for Foresight to make an appearance at the facility. These days, Gueira imagines it’s even more rare. The guards must know that something’s happening, something big.

Gueira hears footsteps coming from the hallway. He smells the rancid stench of Colonel Vulcan before he sees him, his broad armored shoulders and bald head unmistakable. He’s carrying one of the big ice cannons on his right shoulder. That can’t be good.

“We’re moving,” Vulcan says. His voice sounds muffled through the double-barrier, but Gueira can still hear him. “Truck’s all set. Foresight says start with the big one, he’s the most likely to give us trouble. Let’s go!”

Gueira’s guards part around Vulcan as he approaches, waving his employee keycard at the badger reader that will open the cell. He sneers at Gueira through the glass as the first barrier slides away. Gueira sneers back.

“Step back,” Vulcan warns his men as the cell door opens wide, “This one ain’t gotta collar, it’ll light you all up in an instant if it sees the chance. Let ‘em through.”

Gueira steps out into the corridor calmly, one foot in front of the other. The guards cower in his wake, puny guns pointed at him as if their bullets could ever pierce his leathery armor. He knows from his time spent here thirty years ago that there are heat sensors in the corridor, which would sense him firing up before he could ever ignite the hall with his flames, giving Vulcan ample time to blast his limbs off with the cannon on his shoulder. He’s too smart to try it, not when there are so many weapons trained on him now. His mind flickers back to those long days of suffering and torture, to his family shrieking as they were culled, to Thyma cowering in her cage, to Meis’ now missing eye. His lip curls around a snarl. Not yet, he tells himself. He’ll have his chance, but not now. 

Vulcan stabs him in the haunch with the barrel of his cannon. “Go on, you overgrown mutt,” he growls, herding him towards the same hallway they had come in through. Gueira answers him with a snort, sending smoke curling up from his nostrils, but Vulcan only jabs him harder, until he picks up the pace.

Gueira inhales. Bleach, antiseptic. Fear and anxiety from the guards. Vulcan’s cheap drugstore cologne. Gunpowder, still not fired. Gasoline.

He sniffs again. The gasoline odor is growing steadily stronger, the further Vulcan herds him down the hall. Vulcan is taking him to the garage; he can hear the rumble of the truck now, cranked and ready. They’re planning on transporting him. 

That won’t do. If Gueira, Aina, and Thyma are shipped out before Meis and Galo arrive, they’ll be separated, and Gueira may never see them again. Meis won’t know where to look for him, and might get himself caught or worse if he tries to look for him. The vents on his flanks flare red as his fire starts to burn.

“Don’t even think about it, mutt,” Vulcan warns him, butting into his haunch with the cannon again, “Not unless ya wanna see if this thing works better on you than it did on your buddy Lio.”

Gueira snorts, blowing smoke. 

“That’s right. Keep movin’, Burnish,” Vulcan laughs, taunting him. Gueira considers the consequences if he whirled around right now and took his head off, but knows he would never make a turn that sharp in the tight corridor of the hallway before Vulcan got at least one shot off and potentially wounded him. He should save his strength. It doesn’t mean that the temptation isn’t there.

“Move it,” Vulcan barks and, resigned to his fate for now, Gueira obeys.

* * *

Lio comes awake with a jerk of his head and a ragged cough, which sends a plume of smoke and ash and milky-black blood billowing out of his maw. Blood splatters across Galo’s lap where he cradles his head, spewing from Lio’s mouth and nostrils as he coughs it up out of his lungs. 

Meis jerks back from Lio’s snapping mouthful of bloody teeth just in time, cursing. “Ah, fuck, there we go!” 

Galo chokes on a sob, already squeezing Lio in his arms before the poor thing has hardly had a moment to process what’s happening. Lio wheezes, hiccuping sticky-wet blood down Galo’s shirtless back, but Galo doesn’t seem to care, sobbing wordlessly into the bloodied mess of Lio’s neck, where familiar little flickers of flame are now working overtime to seal the gaping wound. The three hear the exact moment when the fire reaches his neck and his spine snaps back into place with a sickening crunch, like bones breaking in reverse. It makes Lio wheeze and, tearing his head away from Galo and Meis, he vomits helplessly onto the tiled floor. He slips, finding no traction where his right arm used to be, and slams face-first into the tiles, spluttering up blood as his lungs fight to expel it. 

“Oh, god, Lio, Lio,  _ Lio,”  _ Galo is sobbing, already gathering him up in his arms again, despite the fact that Lio is a slobbering, bleeding, vomiting mess at the moment, confused and disoriented and snapping his teeth closed on empty air. Something happened. What happened?

He remembers Kray, the tear of his foreleg from its socket, the snap of his own neck, the feeling of drowning in his own blood as it filled up his lungs.

He should be dead. By all accounts, he should be dead.

But, in spite of it all, his heart is beating, his lungs are breathing, and his fire is burning. He can feel it now, smoldering hot and angry in his gut, surging through his veins and cauterizing his wounds. His jugular seals itself closed. The flesh on his throat regrows in fast-forward, the flames sewing him back together where he had been hopelessly broken a moment before. 

His right shoulder throbs pointedly. He coughs up a plume of smoke and hoarsely barks, “Where’s my arm?” 

“Here ya go, boss,” Meis says, as he awkwardly passes the severed limb to him. Galo takes it, repositioning it in the socket it had been torn clean out of. Instantly, the joint is engulfed in pink flames that smolder brilliant turquoise at their core, sewing it back onto Lio’s body.

Relieved, Lio allows his head to drop back down onto Galo’s shoulder, where he rests his chin and drips blood down his back absentmindedly. He feels hazy, warm. It’s only when his nose starts to work again and he inhales the irresistible aroma of Galo’s scent that he realizes  _ who  _ is holding him.

“G-Galo…?” Lio asks into the emptiness behind his eyes, his heat vision still slowly reloading from his total system shutdown. Meis is there too, he thinks, but he can’t focus on two things at once right now. He can barely even focus on one.

“Yeah,” Galo sobs, “It’s me. I’m here, Lio.”

Lio’s eyeless gaze drifts off into the abyss. He mumbles, “Did you save me…?”

“N-No,” Galo hiccups through his tears, and Lio can see the vague shape of him reaching to dry the tears from his eyes, “Meis did. Meis saved you.”

“Hey, ya helped plenty,” Meis chuckles, and Lio thinks he sees him give Galo a playful punch to his shoulder. 

“H-How?” Lio manages.

“Shhh…,” Galo soothes him, his soft warm hands stroking gently across the crown of Lio’s skull, fingers scratching between the three proud points of his iridescent horns, “Meis saved you. Your fire was out. He lit it back for you.” His gaze shifts to Meis and he mouths a silent,  _ Thank you.  _

“My fire was out…,” Lio drones, “I should...I should be dead…”

He feels Galo shrug and swears the man squeezes him just a little tighter. “Guess it just wasn’t your time yet, boss,” Galo says in half a whimper. Lio feels a hot tear fall and hit his cheek, dripping off Galo’s chin. He cranes his neck to lick it away, but ends up slapping Galo dazedly across the forehead with a dried-out tongue instead. Galo laughs, a little weakly. Fear doesn’t sound right on him.

“Guess it wasn’t, kitten,” Lio whispers, “Why are you crying, Galo?”

“‘Cause I thought I lost you!” Galo hiccups.

“Shhh,” Meis hushes them, “Glad you’re okay there, boss, but don’t you two go gettin’ us caught now. We’re gonna need all the luck we can get if we’re gonna get outta this alive now.”

“Meis is right…,” Lio says, “I-I’m sorry, Galo. I never should have gotten you involved in all of this. Your life is in grave danger now, you should -”

“No,” Galo cuts him off, and Lio’s heat vision returns just in time to make out the beautiful, handsome features of Galo’s face as he presses his forehead to his, cradling his huge tapered head in both hands, “Don’t you dare even say it. I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever. Because I love you, Lio, and I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, you hear me? I’ll follow you, even here. And right now, I never want to be apart from you again, understood?”

Lio is silent for a moment, then chuckles weakly, hoarsely. “Galo Thymos, you really are an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Galo laughs back, equally as weak, “I’m the world’s number one.”

“Okay, okay,” Meis interrupts them, whispering urgently, “This is real sweet an’ all, but we gotta figure out what we’re gonna do from ‘ere. Gueira’s still in here an’ I ain’t leavin’ without him. Thyma, too.”

Lio seems to suddenly remember that he’s their leader, lifting his head feebly for a moment before it flops back down on Galo’s shoulder, almost of its own accord. His flames might have healed his broken neck, but his head still feels heavier than usual and moving too quickly makes him dizzy. He’s also very much still (mostly) missing a leg, although his flames are working hard to reconnect it, already popping it back into its socket and starting to restore the muscle and sinew around it. “I know where they are,” he whispers, “Vulcan took them to the high-security cells, on the main floor. They’re just down the hall.”

“What about Aina?” Galo asks, suddenly worried, “Have you seen her?”

Lio laughs. Blood flies off his teeth and hits Meis in the shoulder. Meis winces and wipes it off idly. It smells rancid, like death. “Oh, I’ve seen her, alright.”

Galo quietens, then softly whispers, “Lio, what’s that supposed to mean? Is Aina okay?”

“She’s more than okay,” Lio chuckles, just a little delirious, “She’s a Burnish!” 

Lio lurches forward and throws up again. Galo is now splattered with an uncomfortable amount of blood and vomit, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all, too preoccupied with the relief that Lio is  _ alive.  _

“Uh, alright, boss,” Meis chuckles, giving Galo a sideways glance. Galo shrugs, equally confused, but there’s an underlying worry in his eyes. 

“Lio, you’re not well enough to fight,” Galo tells him, “Who did this to you? Was it Kray? Do you know where he is now?”

“Kray is a Burnish,” Lio says idly, where he’s now half-asleep and one-hundred-percent zoinked-out on Galo’s shoulder, the stress of his near-miss with death quickly catching up with him, “Kray is a Burnish, so watch out.”

“We already know that, Lio,” Galo says imploringly, cradling Lio as gently in his arms as if he were a newborn kitten and not nearly double Galo’s size, “But, where is Kray  _ now?  _ Do you know where he went? Did he do this to you?”

“Do you have any water?” Lio asks and Galo sighs, gazing down at him fondly before he looks over at Meis, to find the other man chewing at his chipped black nails nervously.

“Hey,” Galo says, “Gimme that last water bottle. I’m gonna stay with Lio.”

“Ya won’t be mad if I run off on ya?” Meis asks, reaching for the single bottled water Galo had smuggled in in his cargo pants, “Lio won’t be mad once he...once he’s back to ‘imself?”

“Lio will understand,” Galo reassures him, accepting the water bottle and unscrewing the cap to gently press it between Lio’s fangs. Lio tilts his head back and drains it in one massive gulp, losing half of it down Galo’s front. Then, his head falls back down on Galo’s shoulder and he starts to purr, probably absentmindedly. “Go on, Meis. Go find Gueira and the others. Then come straight back here and we’ll get the fuck outta dodge. Just...try not to get yourself killed, okay?”

Meis is already getting to his feet, promptly reminded that he’s butt naked when a cold draft from the nearby vent smacks him across the ass. He’s surprised he still has the capacity to even feel cold, with how hot the fire burns within him now. He can feel them, smoldering in his depths, surging through his veins. The flames are furious - and so is he. 

He hoists himself onto the nearby desk, where it rests haphazardly on its side with claw marks streaked across its cheap metallic surface, and reaches for the edge of the vent shaft, still hanging open where they left it. He looks back at Galo and Lio and privately wonders if this is the last time he’ll ever see them. Maybe this is goodbye. Maybe not. 

Galo looks back at him with the same solemn recognition. He smiles, weakly, and the sadness of it doesn’t suit him. Meis smiles back and wonders if it’s equally sad, equally hopeless.

“No promises,” he says, and then he disappears into the vent. 

Meis isn’t the seasoned Burnish that Gueira and Lio are. He might not have noticed Lio’s scent trail in the vents, had it not been rancid with rot and death, odors unmistakable even to a nose that’s still learning - but Gueira’s familiar, warm cinnamon scent, he would know anywhere. He could track him across the entire desert if he had to - the entire country, the entire world, there was nowhere he wouldn’t go. Wherever Gueira went, Meis followed. That was true even here.

Gueira’s familiar scent reaches out to Meis from across the facility and, in the cramped confines of the vents, Meis follows it straight to its source. He doubles back the way he and Galo came, then takes a turn and finds himself above what looks like a spacious garage, with room for at least two box trucks and then some. This must be where the facility receives its shipments - or sends them out.

The air shaft widens out into what seems to be a maintenance area above the rafters, stashed full of power tools, coils of rope, and a few stray buckets. It smells dusky in the darkness, lit only from below where there’s a sizable vent cover in the floor, peering down into the garage below. There are other smells, too: gasoline, engine oil, vehicle exhaust. He can hear the putter of a sizable engine nearby and see the dredges of artificial light streaming into the garage from the lamp posts outside. 

Right beneath him stands Gueira, his huge flexible tail raised over his back like a snake prepared to strike as he stares down Colonel Vulcan. The ugly bald man has an ice cannon hoisted over one shoulder, his finger ready on the trigger.

“C’mon then,” Vulcan grunts, half-laughing, half-growling, “C’mon! Let’s see who’s faster! Try it, you big, stupid Burnish!” 

Gueira is snarling, saliva dripping between his bared fangs, glowing neon green in the low lights, his tail poised to strike. Meis knows from experience that it can come down with enough force to shatter bone; he’s seen Gueira fell entire deer with it before. One flick and he could easily break Vulcan’s spine. What sweet satisfaction that would be, Meis thinks to himself, but he knows why Gueira is reluctant to strike. That ice cannon could blast a hole clean through his ribcage and straight into his heart, extinguishing his flames forever - and Gueira’s huge size and bulk meant that he could never outspeed a loaded gun. 

Meis looks around at the mostly empty attic space. He’s no longer in the vents; he has room to move around - room to stretch his legs.

All six of them.

* * *

Aina’s uncertainty is growing. Someone should have come for them by now - and now Vulcan has taken Gueira and left, with no sign from Galo, Lio, or Meis. Beside her, Thyma has started to tremble again, afraid.

Aina flicks a tongue over her cheek. “Don’t worry. Someone will come for us soon.”

“No one’s coming,” Thyma laments miserably, “No one ever does.”

“I came,” Aina disagrees, with another little lick to Thyma’s face, “and I’m not leaving without you. I promise.”

Thyma only whimpers pitifully in response. Aina doesn’t blame her for not trusting her, not when she looks so much like - 

_ Click-clack, click-clack. _

Aina lifts her head and stares indifferently at Heris, the sound of her high heels on the laminate announcing her long before she steps into the corridor and clears her throat. She looks around at the guards - only six remain. The others left after Vulcan took Gueira.

“You’re dismissed,” Heris says, “Dr. Foresight’s orders. The transport is ready when you are. Don’t worry about these two; Dr. Foresight would like to order a second transport for them at a later date. The big one is more than enough for now.”

The security guards must be varying degrees of young, foolhardy, overworked, and underpaid, because none of them have to be told twice. Some of the tension lifts from the room as the guards are dismissed, in good spirits now that they’ve been told to leave. Aina can tell that being so close to the Burnish gives them the creeps and they’re ready to be as far away from them as possible. 

Heris walks up to their cell, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she types something into her tablet, working hastily until the guards are out of earshot. Then, she hurriedly tucks her tablet under her arm and reaches into her pocket, withdrawing a nondescript rectangular key card with nothing printed on it. 

“Aina,” Heris whispers urgently, “Aina, listen, I don’t have much time, but I want you to know something. I want you to know that I’m sorry and -”

Footsteps are audible down the hall, coming closer.

Heris scans the key card. The card reader, which had been glowing a steady red for the past few hours, indicating that the cell was in total lockdown, beeps and lights up bright green, then the first barrier starts to lift, gliding away into the wall. The second barrier clicks unlocked and starts to move a moment later, right behind it. There’s a popping sound as the refrigerator seal comes undone, cold air billowing out into the larger room. 

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I was always wrong,” Heris says hurriedly, “You don’t have to forgive me, you never do. Just let me do this one thing for you.” Her gaze steadily drifts to Thyma, where she cowers behind Aina as the second barrier vanishes into the wall, freeing them. “For both of you.”

The footsteps are right on top of them now.

“Go,” Heris says, “Go, there’s no time, just go!”

Aina snorts, glancing eyelessly over her shoulder at Thyma, before she sets off into the room at a trot. Thyma hesitates for only a moment, then hurries after her.

Aina looks back to make sure that Thyma is following her, then her huge head twists around to look at Heris over her shoulder. She has no eyes, but the expression is still there: solemn, sad, understanding. Heris nods and, chuffing, Aina turns and leaves, her tail hanging heavily behind her as she trails after Thyma in the opposite direction of the footsteps, just as Kray Foresight steps out of the hall and into the high-security corridor, where he finds her sister alone with two empty cells and zero Burnish.

“Dr. Ardebit?” Kray questions, but he’s already reaching for the pistol he always keeps ready on his hip. 

“It’s  _ exactly  _ what it looks like,” Heris says, nonplussed. 

“I warned you, Dr. Ardebit,” Kray says, his thick blonde brows furrowed into a tight gnarled line even though his voice is even and cool, “I warned you that I would kill you if you turned against me.”

“I know,” Heris says calmly, “Now make good on that promise, Kray.”

Aina doesn’t turn back. She doesn’t turn back for the sister who raised her, not after she saw the atrocities Heris had been committing underneath her very nose for all these years, not after she saw the evil the woman was capable of. Even if Kray had extorted her, Heris was a grown woman; she had made her own choice. And now, she had made this choice, too.

So, Aina doesn’t turn back - not even when she hears two sharp gunshots and knows that her sister is dead.

* * *

Meis sees the exact moment when Gueira realizes that he’s there, when the metallic-smelling smoke from his transformation billows down through the slates in the vent cover and his nostrils twitch at the familiar smell of his mate. Vulcan’s chin lifts towards the vent in the same instant that Gueira’s does, in the same instant that Meis stomps with one dagger-like scythe of a leg and sends the gridded vent cover flying open and himself hurtling down.

His pounce feels almost in slow motion, as the reality of what he’s about to do sets in, but in reality, he knows it lasts a fraction of a second. He’s otherworldly fast now that he’s a Burnish, sleek and quick where Gueira is bulky and slow.

Meis hits Vulcan squarely in the chest with two clawed feet gripping tightly to his broad shoulders and two scythes slicing through his carbon fiber armor like a hot knife through butter. The ice cannon flies out of Vulcan’s grasp and clatters loudly to the floor nearby, as the ugly man shouts in surprise at the sudden attack. He flails, striking Meis with frantic fists, but Meis is already hurtling out of the way, landing elegantly on all fours nearby with his mantis-esque scythes raised high up over his shoulders, like a scene from a monster film as he roars ear-piercingly loud and sends a spray of saliva flying. 

Vulcan stumbles backwards with a wordless shout, one hand clawing frantically at the gaping wound Meis’ claws opened in his chest, just above his heart. All that remains of the armor around his torso is shrapnel, cutting his fingers as they scramble over it. His bulging eyes race around the room to locate his cannon; it’s out of reach, pinned underneath Gueira’s foot where the larger of the two Burnish now stands, suddenly seeming much, much larger now that there’s no weapon between them.

Gueira’s huge tail cracks like a whip as he rears up onto his hind legs and comes down on the cannon, shattering it beneath his massive weight. 

Then, with the threat eliminated, he bows his head and croons, as delicately as a lamb.

Meis answers his call with a soft croon of his own, rearing up on his own hind legs to gently nuzzle his pointed face underneath Gueira’s chin. Gueira lowers his snout to nuzzle Meis back, their necks curling around each other in an armless embrace as they coo and hum in the sweet language of lovers that only the Burnish know.

“Missed you, beloved,” Gueira rumbles in his gravel-deep voice.

Meis croons back, “Missed ya, too, big guy.”

Behind them, there’s movement as Vulcan scrambles for the closed double-doors that will take him back into the relative safety of the facility. He’s powerless without his weapons, and certainly stands no chance against two fully-grown Burnish.

Gueira cuts him off with a swing of his tail, growling long and low, “Running like a coward.”

Meis’ own tail starts to twitch in agitation. The fire inside him burns harder, hotter, angrier. One of his scythes dips down just low enough to gently roll along the massive gnarled scar where his missing eye should be in his human form, cruelly taken by no one other than the man in front of them. A growl slips between his fangs, suddenly dripping wet with saliva as bloodlust curls in his depths, as hot as the fire that burns within him now.

His mama warned him against revenge, when he was young.

But, his mama never had her eye knocked out by blunt-force trauma, never saw her lover tortured for fun, never uncovered the horrors of Colonel Vulcan and Foresight Pharmaceuticals. 

His mama never did know best, he had long since realized with age.

Meis’ snout turns towards Gueira as he snarls, “Burnish always hunt in pairs.”

“You first,” Gueira rumbles, ever the gentleman.

Being Burnish has unlocked Meis’ senses, far beyond his sense of smell. He can hear the beat of Vulcan’s heart as it starts to race, his heat vision turning the ugly man from yellow-orange to scarlet red as his temperature rises with panic and fear. Vulcan’s chest is rising harder and faster behind the shredded remains of his armor, dappled red with blood from the wound Meis left on his chest - the wound he meant to be a killing blow even then, but he had missed.

He wouldn’t miss twice.

Vulcan runs.

Meis chases. 

Outside, there’s no cover for the man to take, not that it would save him now. Vulcan flees into the empty courtyard with a helpless shout, immediately ensnared by the very fence that he helped install thirty years prior. The hole where Gueira entered before is too far away, even he knows he’ll never make it in time.

He still tries.

The night is eerily quiet. Vulcan pauses once he’s crested the fence line, emerging into the cool desert night beyond, boots crunching in the sands that appear milky-white in the moonlight. There’s no noise behind him. Not even the wind dares to blow.

He looks back over his shoulder. He hasn’t been followed.

He exhales in relief, doubling over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Something must have distracted the Burnish. Something more interesting than him, he hopes. He recognizes the urge to hunt when it comes across their ugly snarling faces. That was close.

Meis’ tail cracks him across the face harder than a fist, shattering his jaw on impact. The hit is hard enough to send him rolling sideways across the sand, dislodging the visor that covers one of his eyes and crushing it underneath himself.

He knows the pain must be tremendous, but the shock of the attack makes it impossible to feel. He’s pure adrenaline as he tries to scramble to his feet, and instead finds the snarling Burnish looming over him, those two horrible scythes arched high over its back.

He tries to scream, but finds that, with his newly shattered jaw, he can only manage a strangled wordless cry.

Meis snarls, saliva dripping between his fangs and onto Vulcan’s face as he eyelessly stares down the man who took his sight, who threatened his mate.

One of his scythes rolls again over the scar on his face, visible even in this form, pale gray against the obsidian black of his leathery hide.

Then, it shifts down and calmly, almost methodically, stabs into Vulcan’s eye socket. The man tries to scream again, a horrid sound wrenched out of him as Meis yanks the eye from its socket with a twist of his strange new limbs, flinging it away as he withdraws them.

Meis is gone as quickly as he appeared, leaving Vulcan writhing and shrieking on the desert floor. The man twists onto his hands and knees, trying feebly to crawl away on three limbs as he cradles his mutilated face with his other hand, blood dripping between his fingers where his eye had disconnected from its socket.

He stops crawling when a massive shadow falls over him. Whimpering, Vulcan looks up.

A beast as massive as Gueira shouldn’t be able to approach so silently, but there was nothing he couldn’t do to torment the man who hurt and tortured his mate. He had smelled the fear, hot and rancid, on his beloved when he rescued him. He had seen the bruises, black and blue, that had littered his mate’s body, rolled his tongue over the hastily stitched wound where his beautiful blue eye had been recklessly gored out. He knew that his beloved had suffered because of this man and, for that, he intends to have no mercy.

There’s a furious snarl as black lips curl up over neon-green teeth, pressing close to Vulcan’s disfigured and bleeding face with nostrils flaring to relish in the smell of his fear. He deserves to be afraid for what he did to Meis.

There’s a sickening crunch as Gueira rends his head from his shoulders, sending it quite literally rolling across the desert sands like a tumbleweed. The rest of Vulcan’s body falls, spurting blood from the severed neck like a geyser. 

It’s the fate that the lowlife deserved.

Gueira chews through chest and armor and ribcage to find the man’s heart, delicately plucking it out with his pronounced fangs. Nearby, Meis is watching, waiting, his head tilted to one side expectantly. Despite the blood on his yellow fangs, he looks beautiful, elegant, perhaps even cute, and altogether entirely too perfect in Gueira’s eyes.

When Gueira returns to his mate’s side with a croon, he takes the heart with him, offering it to Meis delicately. 

It won’t bring back his missing eye, but it still makes a fine consolation prize.

* * *

Lio resigns himself to rest only long enough for him to hear gunshots down the hall, then he’s on his feet in an instant, the stiff mane of greenish-blonde hair that runs the length of his spine bristling with agitation and unease. His earlier delirium has passed and he’s now eager to return to their mission.

“Lay down, babe,” Galo tries to soothe him, fingers smoothing gently over the place where Lio’s foreleg has now reconnected itself to his body. It feels firmly back in place, the only evidence that it was ever injured at all the dried blood caked against his leathery hide around it, but he’s still reluctant to let Lio run into a fight after his brush with death, “You need to rest.”

“I can’t,” Lio insists, “I need to help them.”

“You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that,” Galo sighs, dragging Lio back down into his arms. The Burnish falls into his lap, going down on his forelegs like a clumsy newborn deer still learning to stand on its own, “But you can’t right now, Lio. You were dead like, maybe thirty, forty minutes ago. You have to rest.”

“I can’t sit here and do nothing,” Lio says, “What if someone gets killed because of me?”

“It wouldn’t be because of you,” Galo argues, all but wrangling with Lio now in his effort to get him to sit down and stay down, while Lio struggles against him to stand and walk, “We all chose to be here, except for Thyma. Besides, if one of the other Burnish gets shot, they’ll heal, right?”

“Not if it’s with an ice cannon,” Lio quips. Galo shouldn’t be able to hold him down so easily; either the man has secretly been hiding herculean strength all along, or Lio truly is drained from his recent ordeal.

“The only one I’m worried about right now is you,” Galo insists, “and maybe Aina. She’s the most at risk, but Kray wouldn’t hurt her, right? She’s human.” 

Pausing, Lio glances back at Galo eyelessly, but even without eyes, Galo can see that he’s mildly concerned. He’s about to ask, when Lio suddenly pipes up, “Not anymore, she’s not.”

Galo feels himself frown, brows drawing together worriedly. “What…?”

“She’s a Burnish,” Lio says, “I don’t know how, or when, or why. I was in the vents earlier and saw her. She was in the cage with Thyma. Dr. Ardebit was there. She was crying. I could hear her screaming all the way in the vents.”

“Aina is...a Burnish?” Galo asks again.

Lio nods. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to -”

“You didn’t make this happen,” Galo interrupts him, “If Aina’s a Burnish now, then she wanted to be. She made her choice. And, if we make it outta here alive, I’m...going to make mine, too.”

“Galo,” Lio says, sternly, “You don’t have to do that. You shouldn’t. Don’t give up your humanity for me. What Aina did was dangerous and -”

“Burnish mate for life,” Galo interrupts, “Am I supposed to just grow old and die while you go on doing your rad fire monster stuff without me? I don’t think so, babe.”

Galo gets the impressive that Lio is staring at him very hard, then the Burnish laughs, a deep, throaty, growling sound. 

“You really are an idiot, Galo Thymos,” he says.

“I know,” Galo chuckles, dragging Lio into a hug with his arms around his huge neck, now marked with a deep silvery scar where it had been torn open and pouring blood less than an hour before, “I’m the universe’s number one.”

“Well, number one firefighting idiot,” Lio muses, jerking his chin towards the locked and closed office door, “Are you going to help me save my people or not?”

Galo hesitates. Lio sees his gaze drop down to where his leg had been disconnected earlier, torn clean from its socket. 

“Don’t worry,” Lio reassures him, “I’m fine, promise. Burnish are nothing if not resilient. Still, I’m forever in your and Meis’ debt. That was quick thinking on your part.”

Galo shrugs. “You think faster when you’re afraid.”

“Help me get my people out of here, Galo Thymos,” Lio says, “and I swear that I’ll never let you be afraid ever again.”

“You have a deal,” Galo says, getting to his feet, “What’s the plan?”

“Don’t have one,” Lio muses, “Never do.”

“Lio, that’s no way to lead,” Galo quips, but it’s more playful than anything. But, the smile on his face quickly fades as he glances back at the blood now drying tacky-wet on the tiled floor. “Kray...he did this to you, didn’t he?”

“Kray is probably the only creature on earth that could,” Lio laments, “I thought that, by biting him, I could make him understand, what it meant to be Burnish. All I did was equip him with the very tool he needed to kill the last of us.”

“Sounds like he had plenty of those before,” Galo muses, his voice eerily soft. It isn’t like him to speak at any volume besides an excitable shout.

Lio already knows what’s on his mind. “Galo, we don’t have to kill him. I know he means a lot to you. He raised you.”

“And then he tried to kill the thing I love most in this world, Lio,” Galo retorts, “The entire time Kray was raising me, putting a roof over my head and clothes on my back and food in my mouth, he was also here, destroying an entire species for his financial gain. He tortured you, and Thyma, and Gueira. No one who does that can possibly be a good person, so...no matter what he might’ve pretended to be to me, it wasn’t real. He nearly killed you, Lio. I can’t possibly forgive him for that. And...I don’t think this will ever come to an end, unless you kill him. I don’t have to like it, I don’t really know  _ how  _ to feel about it right now, but...I’m not going to stop you, either. I wasn’t the one he tortured. I wasn’t the one whose family he killed.”

That last sentence rings hollow and heavy in Lio’s ears.

“Galo...about that…”

* * *

In the end, Meis is entirely too squicked out at the prospect of human flesh to eat the heart that Gueira brought him, but he still greatly appreciates the sentiment - and Colonel Vulcan’s severed head, with his ugly eyes still wide open and bulging and his mouth forever hanging open in an immortalized scream, makes a fine substitute for a soccer ball in the brief moment that the two of them tussle and play together before Gueira is dragging him in close, into the curl of his neck like a hug, purring so sweetly.

Meis would have so loved to run off into the desert with Gueira now, to spend the rest of his days as a free-hearted monster with the love of his life right beside him. But, he can’t, not yet. There’s still unfinished business inside the facility. Thyma’s still waiting for her rescue.

“There’s no time,” Meis says as Gueira rests his chin on his shoulder blades and nearly vibrates with the force of his purr, clearly relieved that Meis is still alive and well after the day’s events, “Thyma needs us. Lio’s hurt real bad. Gotta help.”

“What happened?” Gueira asks, already glancing back towards the facility. From here, it looks quiet, a peaceful dark silhouette on the horizon with two streetlights shining their eerie fluorescent glow on the stark concrete walls. Outside, in the mouth of the open garage, the box truck is still parked, the headlights glowing hazy yellow in the night. Even from here, they can still hear the engine. 

“Kray, I think,” Meis grunts, his voice still hoarse and unpracticed as a Burnish, his heavy southern accent carrying through even in his rumbling throaty growls, “Tore ‘im up real bad. Is okay now. Needs to rest. Probably can’t fight.”

Gueira grunts discontentedly. Meis can tell from a glance that he’s troubled.

“What?” he asks after a moment’s uncomfortable silence.

“Lio, strongest Burnish I know,” Gueira rumbles, “If Kray beat him, we can’t beat Kray.”

“Of course we can,” Meis grunts, “Strongest Burnish I know, is you.”

Gueira huffs, and Meis gets the impression from the way that his bull horns flare brilliant red like a neon sign outside a Las Vegas pub that, if he could, he would be blushing. He only hopes that it inspired something other than embarrassment, too.

Gueira hesitates for a moment, then lifts his head and tail, his horns suddenly looking much stronger and prouder in the eerie moonlight. “Let’s go.”

Meis nods. “I’ll follow you.”

* * *

Gunshots echo in the back of Aina’s mind as she escorts the trembling Thyma through the eerily empty hallways of the facility, closed doors looming alongside them, peering into offices and labs and a breakroom with brightly lit vending machines. Where are the staff? 

Aina bends down and sniffs the linoleum. This isn’t the way that Colonel Vulcan brought Gueira. It doesn’t smell like a Burnish at all; only antiseptic - and Heris.

The thought makes her heart ache.

But, she’ll have to work out how she feels about her sister’s sacrifice later. Right now, Thyma needs her. If nothing else, she has to get Thyma out of here. She deserves to see green grass just once before she dies. She’ll get her there, she swears it.

Somewhere, a roar shakes the facility walls.

Beside her, Thyma trembles.

“What was that?” Aina rumbles, voice low, but Thyma doesn’t answer her, “Maybe it was Gueira. Maybe he came back for us.”

Thyma shakes her head quickly. “Not Gueira!”

Aina can hear something coming towards them; it sounds like hooves on the tiles, eerily reminiscent to the way her own sister’s high heels had sounded on the linoleum just that morning. But this time, she knows, it’s not Heris.

“Kray,” Aina confirms. He would be on them in an instant if he had found their scent trail. “We have to hide,” she says.

“Too late,” Thyma whimpers, “He’ll smell us.”

“Hide anyways!” Aina whispers urgently as she nudges Thyma’s flank with her snout, swinging the nearest door open with her flexible tail and pushing her gently inside. She follows her inside, nudging the door closed behind them quickly. She looks for a lock, not that it would do them much good now. There isn’t one.

The room looks like a medical lab: it has white walls and white linoleum, like the rest of the facility, the middle of the floor occupied by a large metal exam table dressed in plasticky white paper. A matching metallic tray stands beside it, topped with medical tools - namely, a very large, very vicious-looking scalpel, like something out of a horror movie. The room smells overwhelming of antiseptic. There are fire extinguishers hanging on every wall and on the end of each set of cabinets that flank the room, and the ceiling is peppered with sprinklers amid a blinking smoke detector. 

Thyma squeezes underneath the table to hide while Aina looks around for something to defend herself with, before she remembers that she’s now a beast the size of an angus bull with teeth like a tablesaw and claws like serrated steak knives. She looks from her reflection in the backside of the metallic door - the reflection of a Burnish with twisting pink horns and an omnipresent snarl full of teeth, not a strawberry-blonde firefighter with booty shorts and her hair hastily dyed pink - then to Thyma, trembling and afraid under the table.

“I’ll fight him,” Aina says decisively, “You run.”

“What?” Thyma stammers, “He kill you!”

“I know,” Aina says, “That’s why you have to run.”

Thyma shakes her head furiously, but Aina shushes her before she can say more. There are hoofbeats outside now, just on the other side of the door. Aina can hear something snuffling. Kray is looking for them. 

Aina holds her breath and tiptoes closer, so that she can peer out at Kray through the little sliver of window in the door.

She almost reels back in surprise. Kray is  _ white.  _ Did Burnish normally come in white? Every other one she’s ever seen, herself included, has been mostly obsidian-black and vaguely iridescent, with neon-colored highlights dappled throughout their forms. But, Kray is white with striking golden hooves and the curling horns of a ram, his teeth glinting gold in his snarling mouth as he lowers his head to sniff at the floor.

He exhales and smoke streams out his nostrils, like a cartoonish depiction of an angry bull. He reels his head back and snarls as if in frustration, then passes them right on by.

Even through the thin barrier of the door, Aina can smell Kray. It’s faint, like she’s smelling him from very far away rather than a mere meter from her, but it’s there. He  _ should  _ have been able to smell them, too - not that she’s complaining, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding in relief as she turns back to Thyma and nods reassuringly.

Thyma must have noticed this oddity, too. “He leave? He not smell us?”

“Didn’t seem to, no,” Aina says softly, still whispering, just in case.

Thyma tilts her head curiously, creeping closer to the closed door. “Maybe...he can’t smell?”

Aina shrugs, which feels weird in the new body she’s still very much getting used to. “Dunno. Maybe. We can’t hide here forever, though. We’ve gotta find the others and get outta here, before Kray finds us.”

Thyma glances around the room eyelessly, before her empty gaze settles on one of the many fire extinguishers. Her tail perks up, the first time Aina has seen it anywhere but between her legs, and she lifts her head.

“Have an idea.”

* * *

Galo feels like he’s about to shake apart entirely - whether from anger or from tears, he isn’t certain. 

Gently, Lio rests his chin on the man’s shoulder. The action is almost apologetic.

“Kray killed my family,” Galo repeats what Lio had just told him, “It wasn’t you who burnt our house down that night. It was him. It was always him.”

“I’m sorry,” Lio says.

“Were you there?” Galo asks, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“After Gueira and I organized the jailbreak, Kray caught on and ordered that we all be killed. That’s when I bit him. I injected him with my venom, thinking - foolishly, I might add - that it would either turn him into a Burnish right away and add to the confusion, or he would be forced to reevaluate his treatment of us once he was one of us. It did neither. Kray ordered Colonel Vulcan to shoot me. The ice cannon shot clean through my ribcage. It nearly hit me in the heart. What happened next, I’m not sure. When I woke up, I was being taken to the incinerator with all the others. Their bodies, that is. I was the only survivor, or so I thought,” Lio says.

“I attacked and killed the guard burning the bodies and went after Kray. I found him in the throes of his first transformation. He was confused, afraid. I should have killed him then. He fled from the sight of me and, for hours, I chased him. I couldn’t let him run into the city and kill innocent people, or draw attention to himself. Humans aren’t supposed to know we exist. You see what happens when they do. This happens.” He gestures to the space around them with his tail. “Kray fled into the outskirts of Promepolis. It was late, the middle of the night. A sleepy little suburb. A peaceful place. Kray has never understood how to just let himself be Burnish. He tries to fight it. And when you fight it, you lose control of your flames more easily.”

“And he did,” Galo says weakly, “He lost control and burned down my family’s home. He killed my parents.”

“You were just a cub then,” Lio remembers, “I remember you now, Galo Thymos. I remember you running away from the flames and screaming. And when you ran outside with tears streaming down your face, who did you find there but Kray Foresight, human again and waiting with open arms, ready to pretend to save you? There was nothing that bastard wouldn’t use for good publicity. Even the fact that he murdered your parents and made their only son an orphan.”

Galo chokes on a sob. Lio holds him tightly in the curl of his neck. “I knew he never really  _ loved  _ me, y’know,” Galo says, “I knew he never really thought of me as his  _ son  _ even after he officially adopted me. I never kidded myself, not that bad. But I also never thought he was just...using me.”

“I’m sorry,” Lio says again.

“It’s not your fault,” Galo says quickly.

“I was the one who chased him. Maybe he wouldn’t have run straight into the city if I wasn’t hot on his trail. I should have -”

“You didn’t know what would happen, and you can’t change it now even if you did,” Galo interrupts him, then leans back to wipe his nose on the back of his hand. His eyes are bleary with tears. He looks far too miserable to be Galo Thymos. “We have to stop him. He’ll never hurt another family. He’ll never hurt another Burnish.”

“Trust me, kitten, I intend to,” Lio says, glancing back up at the closed and locked door, “Kray thinks I’m dead. Maybe I can use that to my advantage. Take him by surprise and overpower him.”

“I’m going to,” Galo reminds him.

Lio sighs, but smiles fondly. “I had a feeling you would say that, Galo Thymos.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Galo says, holding tightly to his monstrous lover. One of Lio’s tongues flicks out to gently lick his cheek, tasting his tears.

“The vents are out of the question now,” Lio decides, glancing up at the still-open shaft Galo and Meis had entered through earlier, “Kray’s expecting that, I dropped down on him from one earlier. And if he caught us while we were inside them, we’d be trapped. We’re going to have to confront him head-on.”

Galo’s cheeks inflate with a deep breath, then he lets it out, slowly but unsteadily. “This isn’t going to end well, is it?” 

“It didn’t the first time,” Lio admits, glancing eyelessly down at the forelimb that had been torn clean off of him earlier, “There’s one thing I still don’t understand. I’ve been injured worse before and come back from it just fine. My flames should have healed me. So, why didn’t they?”

“Meis and I wondered the same thing,” Galo comments, pondering it, “There was something weird leaking out of your wounds, when we found you. Your blood’s black, right? This was bright red. It was really liquidy and weird and it burned when we touched it. Meis said it reminded him of venom, which  _ really  _ makes me concerned what kind of snakes they have down in Dallas.”

“Venom?” Lio prompts, visibly surprised.

“Yeah. That’s what Meis said, but neither of us really knew. Whatever it was, it was leaking outta the bite wound on your neck. It didn’t look right. I thought maybe...Kray did  _ something  _ to you so you couldn’t heal. He wanted to make sure you stayed dead.”

“Unfortunately for him, I don’t intend to,” Lio snarks, then considers it, “If Kray is venomous, it’s the first I’ve ever heard of it in a Burnish. Is it because he used to be human? Is Meis venomous? Is Aina?”

“I have no idea,” Galo concedes.

“A venom that prevents our accelerated healing…,” Lio laments, “That could be a problem, if anyone’s been bitten. But, it also gives me an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“What are the chances that Kray is immune to his own venom?” 

Galo shrugs. “Only one way to find out, I guess.”

Lio shakes his head. “We better hope this works, or I may very well get you killed yet, Galo Thymos.”

But, Galo only grins, his pep already returning. “Alright! Let’s fight fire with fire!”

* * *

Gueira and Meis return through the open garage, where the unlocked box truck is still idling with its yellowed headlights running. But, beyond the gentle rumble of the engine, it’s suspiciously quiet in the Foresight Pharmaceuticals facility.

The double-doors between the garage space and the rest of the facility are ajar, propped open when Vulcan escorted Gueira out earlier. Beyond them, the fluorescent lights of the facility glow brilliant white in the empty hallway. One of them is flickering vaguely, lending an eerie feel to the already creepy scene. Meis slinks in after Gueira, who has his head low and his tail raised, snout close to the floor as she sniffs the linoleum.

“Gunpowder,” Gueira huffs after a moment, “Smells like there was trouble, but why? Regular guns are useless against Burnish.”

“Maybe someone panicked and it was all they had,” Meis suggests as he follows along in Gueira’s shadow, alert for trouble.

“All the guards carry ice pistols,” Gueira informs him, “Thyma and Aina should still be in their cell. We’ll get them first, then meet up with Galo and Lio and figure out how to get the hell outta here. I never wanna see this place again.”

“Agreed,” Meis huffs, thinking again of his gouged-out eye and the empty socket that still aches when he’s human. Doing the same to Vulcan had been satisfying, in a sadistic sort of way - but it wouldn’t bring back his missing eye.

Gueira stops halfway down the hallway, sniffing pointedly. “Something’s dead,” he remarks, then carries on until he reaches the end of the hall, where it opens up into the high-security corridor with Thyma and Aina’s cell. It’s empty. The security team has vanished. Only Heris’ body - slumped over on her side with blood streaming from two bullet holes in her chest, staining the pristine white of her lab coat brilliant red - remains to guard it.

Gueira sniffs her. “Kray was here,” he says.

Meis sniffs, too. He wants to learn Kray’s scent. “Why’d he kill ‘er?”

“No idea,” Gueira grunts, “Maybe turned against him ‘cause of Aina.”

“...who is gone,” Meis asserts, following Aina’s scent trail towards the hallway adjacent to the one they just emerged from, “Thyma, too. This way.”

“Wait,” Gueira grunts, sniffing at the tiles, their polished white now smudged with blood here and there, “Kray followed ‘em.”

“Then, they’re in trouble,” Meis says “We gotta hurry.”

Gueira nods, following Meis for several steps before he looks back at Heris’ body and huffs. “She always was the nicest person in this damned place.”

Meis looks back at him over his shoulder, his scythe shifting out of the way so he can see. “What?” he asks, confused.

“Dr. Ardebit. She was the nicest person here,” Gueira says, “but bein’ the nicest person in an evil place don’t make you any less evil than all the others. I still have vivid memories of her slitting my belly open and plucking out my entrails. She got what she deserved.”

Meis huffs. “And so did Colonel Vulcan.”

Gueira jerks his head back towards the hallway spiraling away into fluorescent brightness before them. “And so will Foresight. Let’s go.”

* * *

“If I’m remembering correctly,” Lio says softly as he escorts Galo through the sprawling network of hallways, laboratories, storage areas, and offices in the facility, “this is where the weapons were stored.”

Lio lifts his tail and cracks it against the keycard scanner that locks the door. It shorts out with a fizzle as its plastic cover is shattered into shrapnel. Galo grabs the handle and jerks it open, closing it quickly behind them after a glance in either direction to ensure that they’re still alone. He turns around to find Lio already prying one of the locked cabinet doors off its hinges, the sturdy metal coming apart like mere linen in his jaws. It’s making an unfortunate amount of noise, but inside, the cabinet is stacked wall-to-wall with Foresight Pharmaceuticals-branded weapons, each embellished with a trademarked logo reading  _ Freeze Force.  _

“Jackpot,” Galo says, pumping a fist in the air as he browses the selection. There are several longer-barreled models resembling hunting rifles, probably more suited to long-distance shots, and a wider selection of short-barreled pistols. “Uh, any idea what’s good?”

“Get something for close range,” Lio suggests, “Wherever we find Kray, it’s bound to be tight. You need to be able to shoot fast and accurate, and you need to hit him square in the head or the heart. Don’t stop after one shot. Unload the entire magazine into him. And then we can inject him with his own venom while he’s down, to ensure he doesn’t heal his wounds. He should succumb quickly if he can’t heal and, if he doesn’t...well. I’ll kill him.”

Galo swallows hard at the thought, selecting a close-range pistol and checking the magazine. It’s empty, but there’s a freezer nearby where he suspects he’ll find the ammo. He checks the freezer and finds it loaded with frostbitten cardboard cartons of ice bullets, which sting his fingers as he loads them into the magazine and snaps it closed, switching the safety to on before he shoves it into his utility belt. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

“Galo,” Lio calls after him as he starts for the door.

Galo stops. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure you can do this?” Lio asks.

Galo can feel the Burnish right behind him, hovering closeby. He swallows. “Yeah. I have to. Think about everything he’s done to the Burnish. To you. When he tried to kill you, he had already lost. I’ll kill him myself if I have to now, because of what he did to you, Lio.”

Lio presses his cranium into the space between Galo’s shoulder blades. “Thank you, Galo. But you don’t have to do this, not for me.”

“Yes, I do,” Galo says, “For you and for all the Burnish. It’s the right thing to do. Now, c’mon, let’s go. We’ve got work to do.”

Lio watches Galo crack open the door and look in both directions before he swings it open and steps out into the hallway, shaking his head faintly as he follows him out.

Somewhere in the facility, Kray howls.

Lio hears it for what it is: a taunt. Come and get me. 

* * *

Gueira is following Kray’s scent trail through the halls when he suddenly stops and lifts his head, sniffing pointedly at the silver handle to one of the many closed doors. Then, he lowers it again and smells the linoleum. 

“Oh no,” he says quickly, jerking his head up and taking off down the hallway.

Meis runs after him, keeping up with him easily. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Aina and Thyma were here,” Gueira says as he runs, rounding a corner so quickly that his feet scramble on the linoleum and he almost falls, “and so was Kray.”

Nearby commotion explains the rest. The coppery aroma of blood reaches Meis’ nose as he follows Gueira around another corner. They’re in the main corridor now - an empty lobby, pristine and white, sprawling underneath a sunlight that looks out into the black night sky above. The smooth marble of the unmanned secretary’s desk is chipped and smeared with blood, Aina’s form momentarily still where it hit the floor behind it, before she’s jumping to her feet again and surging back towards Kray. 

Meis is startled at Kray’s appearance - a towering, bulky, white beast even larger and broader than Gueira, with the golden hooves of a horse on his hind limbs and reaching clawed hands in the front and the curling gold horns of a ram. His teeth shine golden yellow in his mouth and a mane of sparkling white hangs fluffy and full around his neck, trailing along his underside to meet with his equally fluffy tail, resembling the hairy tail of a horse but three times the length, raised high behind him as he snarls in Aina’s face. That pristine white mane is dripping ebony black with Burnish blood, trickling down from his gaping maw as it splits around a roar, but Aina doesn’t back down despite the gaping wound Meis sees and smells on her haunch where Kray must have grabbed her. She roars back, sending spittle and blood flying, circling around Kray with her hackles raised.

Gueira doesn’t think twice. He barrels into the fray, snarling lividly, and snaps his terrible jaws closed on the first thing he reaches: Kray’s tail. He jerks hard. Kray yelps, then rears up onto his forelimbs and kicks Gueira in the head -  _ hard  _ \- with his hooves. It makes a painful-sounding thunk and sends Gueira tumbling away, staggering to his feet quickly to charge in again, before Meis even has the chance to check on him.

Kray comes back down on all fours just in time to deflect Aina’s next attack with his horns, ramming her hard enough to send her, too, sprawling. She lands on her wounded flank with a yelp, struggling to right herself before Kray can come down on her with his jaws, held back only by Gueira grabbing him by the tail again and jerking him back. This time, he knows to let go quickly enough to avoid Kray’s hooves. It gives Aina just enough time to get back on her feet, tail raised and hackles bristled as she snarls.

Meis stands there and watches, shock-still, as the three massive Burnish quarrel. Kray is impossibly huge on his own - until now, Meis thought that Gueira was the biggest thing he had ever seen - and between the three of them, even the sizable lobby suddenly feels entirely too full, claustrophobic and full of teeth and claws and horns. Gueira nips Kray on the haunch to distract him while Aina rams her twin horns into his foreleg, but even between the two of them, the huge beast doesn’t lose his footing, only howling in frustration as he wheels around to face Gueira with a snap of his bloody jaws. Gueira narrowly avoids them, snapping his own closed around Kray’s snout and twisting hard with his entire body in an attempt to drag him down, while Aina hurtles at his haunches and sinks a fistful of claws into his side.

Gueira comes away yelping when Kray suddenly ignites his snout in searing red flame, shaking his head and pawing at his muzzle to dislodge the biting tongues of fire. No longer muzzled by Gueira’s bite, Kray whirls around and seizes Aina in his jaws, jerking her off the ground like she weighs no more than a kitten and shaking her hard, before throwing her down with a sickeningly hard thump. She slides across the floor, streaking it black with Burnish blood. Somehow, it’s the image of that blood staining the floor - as it has many, many times before in this facility - that spurs Meis into action.

A swift blow from Meis’ scythe leaves a stinging slash wound across Kray’s eyeless face. Kray rears back with a yelp, flames already roaring up the length of his throat, but Meis is long gone by the time his fire hits the linoleum, blasting it burnt-black in that spot. Then, as quickly as Meis inflicted the wound, Kray’s flames are surging up to seal it, blazing it back closed in a fraction of a second. It happens impossibly quickly. Kray is healing too fast, faster than he should be back to. As soon as one of them inflicts a wound, Kray heals it before they can inflict another, which explains why he’s miraculously wound-free despite the three fully-grown Burnish coming at him from all angles now.

What aren’t healing are Aina’s wounds. This time, when she struggles back to her feet, she’s bleeding both from her punctured haunch and from one of the earholes hidden underneath her lengthy fur. She charges right back in even though she’s noticeably limping now, unable to bear weight on one bruised and broken hind leg.

Smoke streams from the corners of Meis’ eternally grinning maw as steel-blue flames surge up from his depths. He fires them not at Kray, but at the ceiling above, the ceiling tiles immediately catching fire and sending up plumes of smoke. The smoke detector blinks red, then starts to beep - and then the sprinklers come on. A rain of water falls down on them, spaced every two to three feet. The flames brimming in Kray’s maw flicker and fizzle out and he wheels towards Meis, roaring in outrage at his thwarted attack - giving Gueira the chance to grab him by the throat. 

Grinning green fangs sink into the tender underside of Kray’s throat, where he has no scutes or hardened scales to protect him. His bellow breaks off in a wheeze as Gueira crushes his windpipe, clamping down with all his might. He swats at Gueira with his forelimb, armed with golden sickle-shaped claws, but from this angle, Gueira is protected by the armor of his hide, the vents in the side of his neck glowing brilliant red as he heats up with his own flames. They, too, are dampened by the sprinklers’ steady rain, but it doesn’t matter: Gueira’s jaws have found their mark, and he won’t let go until the deed is done.

Kray writhes, but even when he tries to rear up onto his hind limbs, Gueira holds tightly to his throat. The harder Kray struggles, the deeper his fangs sink. 

The first gunshot sends Meis and Aina scattering in confusion and fear. Had the guards returned? Was an entire arsenal of weapons about to be unleashed on them? Would they spare Kray now that he was a Burnish, or take him down with them?

“Gueira, don’t let go!” Lio shouts as he gallops into the room. Galo is kneeling behind him, partially concealed behind the corner where the lobby meets the hallway, grasping a pistol. Its bullet had fired into Kray’s shoulder, leaving a stinging icy wound where it sank into the skin and immediately started to spread, frost spiderwebbing outwards, invisible on his white hide.

Kray’s head jerks up when he hears Lio’s voice and Gueira hears him wheeze in shock in his hold. He can’t help but grin wider around his grip on Kray’s throat.

“Surprised to see me, Kray Foresight?” Lio asks as he enters the room, carrying himself with the unmistakable dignity of a leader - albeit, a leader who had come within an inch of his life and lost a limb earlier that day. He’s still slightly less steady on his feet than he would like to be, especially at a momentous moment like this. But, it hardly matters now.

“Galo,” Lio says.

“You got it, boss,” Galo says - softly, calmly, in a way that sounds profoundly unusual for him. There’s a solemn sadness in his soft blue eyes as he watches Kray through the sight, which only serves to amplify the way he’s writhing and struggling in Gueira’s jaws. Galo can even see the panicked flutter of his pulse in his neck through the viewfinder as he takes aim. Kray is afraid, even if he would never say it.

Kray deserves to be afraid.

Galo fires. He fires, and fires, and fires, until the magazine is empty save for three bullets. He shoots a clean line down Kray’s side, bullets lodging between his ribs and in his haunch and even in the base of his tail, each shot drawing a wheezing yelp up from his throat until he finally falls silent. Gueira twists his head and brings Kray tumbling down to the floor at last, giving his huge head one final twist. He doesn’t stop until he hears Kray’s neck snap - the very same way he had snapped Lio’s earlier that very day.

Kray is convincingly still for a moment - and then his flames are bubbling up through the bullet holes in his side, as littered with wounds as a practice target at a shooting range, dampened but not entirely stopped by the sprinklers still raining down on them all. His wounds are already starting to heal, impossibly quickly.

“Hurry,” Lio says softly but urgently, “We need to get the venom in him before he heals.”

Lio seizes Kray’s forearm in his maw, guiding it towards Kray’s jaws where they hang open limply around his three blood-red tongues. He drops it between them, positioning it as well as he can with his snout.

Galo holsters his pistol and walks over to assist him, positioning Kray’s forearm between his own teeth and then clamping his jaws closed until he sees blood. Two wickedly sharp fangs protrude at the front of Kray’s mouth, pumping his inky black venom into his own bloodstream. So long as his heart is beating, it will pump the venom through his own veins. Kray will die at the hands of his very own weapon. It’s poetic justice, Lio thinks.

The flames seeping to the surface of Kray’s wounds to seal them quieten, fading away with little trickles of smoke. He lays still, the room deathly quiet except for Aina’s panting breathing somewhere to the left and the gentle patter of the sprinklers against the linoleum, like a pleasant spring rain coming to wash away the atrocities of the facility. Meis’ fire has since been snuffed out by the sprinklers, leaving only angry black streaks across the ceiling tiles where they had briefly burned.

The room is still for a moment, and then Meis finally goes to Gueira’s side to nuzzle his head underneath his chin as his heart swells with relief. Gueira meets him halfway, cooing softly. Lio turns his back to the scene, venturing over to where Aina lays wounded on the floor and rolling one of his tongues along her haunch where it bleeds. He exhales a stream of fire that touches the savage bite gently, urging it to heal. 

Gun now holstered, Galo kneels beside Kray. His hand trembles as he reaches out to gently touch the his snout, now permanently curled into the snarl of the monster that Galo never knew his father figure was. There’s a certain elegance to him, with his bulging muscles and sparkling white hide and golden ram horns and the mane of a lion, but the longer Galo studies him, blinking back tears he isn’t certain he’s allowed to shed or even should, the more he realizes that Kray made an ugly Burnish, paling in comparison to Lio and the others. But especially to Lio.

Galo isn’t sure how he should feel right now, kneeling beside his adoptive father as the venom seeps deep into his veins and his breathing slows towards a stop. He hates Kray. He does. He’s certain he does. But, whether he liked it or not, Kray had still raised him. It was hard to reconcile the Kray who had read him bedtime stories and fixed him Kraft mac ‘n cheese and checked his temperature when he was sick as a child with the Kray who had committed genocide against an entire species, a species that included Lio. He glances towards Aina where she’s laying on her side while Lio carefully tends to her wounds, wondering if she’s going through the same thing right now, too.

Galo’s train of thought is derailed when he realizes that someone is missing. He’s about to ask where Thyma is when Kray suddenly roars back to life beside him.

Galo is a far quicker man on his feet than he is with his wits, but even he could never have moved fast enough to avoid Kray’s gaping jaws as they clamp down around his forearm, over the very same place that Thyma had burned him several weeks prior.

Galo shrieks. Aina screams, in an inhuman sort of way. Lio just whirls around and stares in shocked silence as Kray rises from the ashes like an unholy phoenix and sinks his wicked teeth into Galo’s arm, dragging him down with the ease that a dog drags a squeaky toy.

Galo’s arm is rendered down to the bone in seconds, but the damage would have been much worse had Gueira not reacted quickly, swinging his massive, muscular tail into Kray’s snout with enough force that it registers with a crack like a whip - except the crack is Kray’s skull fracturing and forcing him to drop Galo’s mutilated arm. Lio rushes to him, head turned towards Kray with lips curling into a snarl as he hurriedly pushes Galo away, out of his reach. Galo scrambles over to where Aina is still down, cradling his arm to his bare chest and trying hard not to look at it in fear that he’ll be sick if he does; the bone is exposed and skin, muscle, and tendon all hang down from it in gruesome red ribbons. He’s instantly lightheaded from blood loss, awake only through sheer willpower and the force of the adrenaline pumping hot and heavy through his veins. He fights back the blackness threatening to overtake his vision, focusing hard on where Lio and Gueira are now circling around Kray, the former’s hackles raised. Overhead, the sprinklers rain down on them, streaking the slippery-wet tiles red with Galo’s blood as it drips from between Kray’s wicked fangs.

Kray rises onto all fours with his head twisted backwards at the sickening, impossible angle, his jaw hanging loose where Gueira had broken it. The flames oozing from the many bullet holes in his neck and flank ebb away, to instead twist upwards towards his head and whirl around his neck like a lion’s mane as his broken neck snaps back into place with a revolting crunch and his jaw rights itself for the second time that day. He snaps it open and closed once, and then he’s staring Gueira and Lio down with demented blood-red eyes, peering from the empty space above his snout where no other Burnish has eyes, as red as the fire that swirls around him. The sprinklers do nothing to dampen his flames, their water rising off of him in clouds of steam instead. He’s burning too hot.

The sprinklers might not be enough to touch Kray’s flames, but Gueira’s fire has most certainly been effected, smoldering out into smoke as he tries to light a spark, growling in frustration. As impulsive as ever, he decides that, if he can’t access his flames, he’ll beat Kray with brute force instead. 

Lio barks out a wordless warning as Gueira rams his head into Kray’s chest, the neon-red claws of his forelimbs sinking into the soft unarmored flesh of Kray’s biceps as he latches onto him and tries to drag him down. The wreath of flames burning around Kray’s neck lurches towards Gueira, but cannot burn him. Gueira sinks his teeth into the underside of Kray’s neck and twists, trying again to break his neck - for good this time - but he’s so caught up in the burning desire to take Kray down that he doesn’t realize the larger Burnish is clamping his jaws closed around his cranium until it’s too late. 

The last thing Gueira sees is Lio launching himself onto Kray’s back and sinking his claws into him before he’s being torn free from Kray’s neck and flung across the room like a ragdoll. He hits the slick tiles in a heap and slides for several feet before a wall stops him with a thump, sending sheetrock crumbling down on him in dust. The entire building seems to quiver at the impact. He immediately tries to regain his footing, only dimly aware of Meis rushing over to him with a cry of his name, but sinks right back down on his belly, panting faintly. Meis cranes his neck to lap gently at the top of his head, tongue coming away black with blood and Kray’s venom as the sticky-wetness oozes past his horns. He feels dizzy, whoozy.

“Stay down,” Meis whispers, licking the wound, “It’s bad.”

“Gotta help Lio,” Gueira grunts as he tries and fails to rise again. His heat vision is fuzzy and unsteady, but he can still make out where Kray is blazing like an inferno in the middle of the lobby, impossibly hot. A smaller shape, slightly cooler, is latched onto his back, snapping futilely at the back of his neck. Lio, Gueira knows instinctively. If he could just get up, he would try to overturn Kray and tear into the tender unprotected underside of his body...but he can’t, he realizes as he falls back down, legs curled underneath him. He’s panting, his body silently telling him to stop.

“I’ll help him,” Meis says, but Gueira is grabbing him gently between his jaws and dragging him down beside him before he can take a single step.

“No,” Gueira orders, “Stay here. He’ll kill you.”

“But someone has -,” Meis starts, but Gueira silences him with a gentle but firm growl, resting his pointed chin on Meis’ shoulders as his vision spins. He knows Kray’s venom is pumping through his veins now, preventing him from healing. Meis stops trying to pull away from him, seemingly getting the message. “What are we gonna do?” Meis asks, lifting his head to exchange a panicked glance with Aina from across the room. Galo is propped up against her flank, half-conscious from blood loss as she laps at his wounds in vain. 

“D-Don’t know,” Gueira pants, and it’s a terrifying realization. Kray is a stronger Burnish than Gueira ever knew existed, perhaps even stronger than Lio, and he and Aina are both too wounded to fight now. Meis is small and delicate and still new to being Burnish; he would never forgive himself if Meis tried to fight Kray and was injured or worse. Even Galo has been dispatched, his arm in shreds and spilling blood by what seems like the bucket full (how much blood can humans lose?). That leaves only Lio and…

“Where’s Thyma?” Gueira asks, lifting his head.

Meis sniffs, but there are too many scents rushing through the room right now for him to track her. “Dunno,” he says, then glances across the room at Aina. Thyma should have been with her, but she was nowhere to be found. His heart sinks at the first possibility for her absence that springs to mind.

“Maybe she already left,” Gueira suggests, as if sensing Meis’ morbid thoughts, “Maybe she’s safe.” Lio’s yelping brings Gueira back to the moment, every fiber of his being crying out for him to rush back into the fray and help Lio even though his body can’t do it. He huffs, pulling Meis in closer with his thick forelimbs and nuzzling his snout against his shoulders. “Meis, listen, I’m sorry for -”

“Don’t,” Meis shushes him, curling his neck around him, “We’re gonna get out of this. We’re gonna be fine.”

Lio yelps again, and Gueira can see even through the haze currently settled over his heat vision that Kray has flung Lio off of him and sent him crashing to the floor, where he’s laying prone and helpless as Kray stalks towards him. Gueira wills his flames to light, but they won’t, fizzling out into smoke and streaming out of his maw. 

Kray rears his ugly head back to strike the final blow when something suddenly clatters to the tiles beside him, gratingly loud. He pauses, glancing sideways at it with his ugly red eyes.

It’s a fire extinguisher.

Kray’s eyes dart around for the source when the second one smacks him in the side of the head. He roars in outrage as he whirls towards one of the many hallways that lead into the lobby.

Thyma stares back at him eyelessly, standing in one of the entryways with one tiny paw rested on a third extinguisher defiantly, a fourth clutched delicately in her toothy mouth. 

The second extinguisher she threw lands at Kray’s feet, one side lit up in flames from grazing against his blazing neck. It smokes and then, in a dazzling but deafening display of smoke and fire and retardant, explodes at his feet. The explosion is enough to send even Kray reeling, stumbling backwards as everyone in the room shrinks back in fright, Aina shielding Galo in the curve of her neck while Meis lurches underneath Gueira in alarm. 

There’s fire retardant dripping from Kray’s snout when he shakes his head, sending dollops of white foam flying as he whirls around to face Thyma. She meets him halfway, dropping her third extinguisher on the floor to rest at her feet, and lifts her head and tail to stare back at him defiantly. The size difference between them is a sight to behold - tiny, dainty Thyma with her soft tresses of curly auburn fur and giant, monstrous Kray with his mane of flames burning furiously around his neck and fire retardant dripping from between his fangs like the slobbery foam of a rabid animal. 

Kray stares at Thyma for a moment, then has the audacity to laugh. “What is this? Really? You?”

“You killed my family. You locked me up here,” Thyma says, undaunted, “You kept me prisoner for thirty years for your sick twisted experiments. You hurt me and hurt me and hurt me. Now...I’m going to hurt you.”

“I would like to see you try,” Kray barks, bemused. He’s still laughing at her when a third extinguisher hits him square in the chest, bouncing and bruising the tender nose at the tip of his snout. He gives an undignified yelp of pain, which immediately trails off in a furious snarl as he lurches towards her. 

Thyma lets him come.

He closes the distance between them in three quick bounds, but by that time, she’s ready.

Kray’s snapping jaws close not around Thyma, but around the last of her fire extinguishers. The metallic shell gives way around his fangs, piercing into the pressurized contents with a rush of compressed gas and foam. Thyma bounds between his legs and escapes underneath him as he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the cannister, but it’s stuck tight between his fangs.

Aina nudges the pistol in Galo’s holster with her snout. He gets the message.

The first bullet hits Kray in the neck, Galo’s aim unsteady from blood loss and adrenaline as his finger trembles on the trigger.

But the second hits its mark. 

The pressurized cannister explodes in Kray’s mouth the instant the ice bullet hits it, immediately freezing its contents and sending them surging out of their confines. Kray explodes with it, showering the entire lobby in flaming, bloody chunks of white and red.

Everyone ducks. The explosion nearly ruptures every eardrum in the room, but when eyes reopen and ears cease their ringing a few seconds later, Kray is gone. Mostly - one of his legs is still mostly intact, but it’s on the other side of the room now, amid the bloodbath that resulted from something being blown up from the inside out. Where the pieces of him lie, smoke curls up between the trickles of water still coming down from the ceiling as his body slowly starts to turn to ash, quite literally disintegrating. 

Galo drops the gun, doubles over, and throws up.

Aina pats him on the back with her tail tip, the one part of her that is seemingly uninjured. Thyma trots up to her, wagging her own tail, and Aina lifts her head to meet her halfway, their snouts meeting in an appreciative nuzzle. “Good job,” Aina says to her, before Thyma is flopping down on the floor beside her to lick her wounds - and Galo’s, too. 

It takes Lio a moment to recover from the shock of what he just witnessed, and then he, too, is venturing over to them, laying down to rest his head in Galo’s lap and lick his wounds. Thyma’s saliva, unaffected by Kray’s venom, is already working quickly to heal them, sealing blood vessels and rebuilding tendons severed by Kray’s fangs. Galo looks at him, green-lipped and pale, and manages a smile. Lio laughs, then smothers him with a kiss that’s all tongue thanks to his current form. Galo laughs, too - weak from nausea and blood loss, but a laugh, nonetheless.

Across the room, Meis shakes the blood and Kray-juice off of himself, flicking bits of scorched flesh off of his back with one scythe and cringing at the sight. “Gross,” he grunts, shaking again, and Gueira laughs at him. Meis looks at him; even without eyes, the relief is visible loud and clear on his face, curled into a big goofy grin as if he isn’t currently hemorrhaging from the head. The mess of the situation forgotten, Meis lays back down with him, lapping sweetly at the wound to his cranium until the blood ceases to flow.

“So,” he asks at last, “What now?”

“All that’s left to do, I think, is burn this hellhole to the ground,” Gueira replies, his tail thumping faintly across the tiles behind him despite himself, “and then I don’t wanna do anything else for a hundred years.”

Meis laughs. “A hundred years, huh?”

Gueira bumps his head against his. “The first hundred of many.”

* * *

There’s a brief moment where things feel lighter, where the weight of the longest of long days lifts off of six pairs of tired shoulders and happiness seems just beyond the horizon again. After Thyma has nursed wounds all around, Gueira finds one of Kray’s horns among the bloody, slippery wreckage of the lobby and snatches it up, using it to briefly engage in a game of tug-o-war with Lio, who indulges him for once, clearly just relieved to still be alive after all this. Kray is gone; his long-fought battle is finally over.

The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon line when Lio limps out of the facility through the open garage. There, the box truck’s engine has ceased to run; the headlights remaining on the entire night has run the battery dead. It’s died with everything else about the Foresight Pharmaceuticals facility. Now, only the building remains, to be discovered abandoned and empty when the morning shift comes in, which should be in just a few hours. Somewhere in its labyrinth of sterile white halls, Heris’ body will greet them. They’ll find the lobby slick with Kray’s blood and nothing of his remains, which will have since turned to ash by then.

Gueira is still slightly unsteady on his feet as he follows Lio out, with Meis trailing along beside him. He hasn’t gone back to his human form; he hasn’t felt the need to. This, he thinks, is the body he belongs in now, as he walks alongside his wobbly mate with Lio and Galo in front of them and Aina and Thyma somewhere behind them.

Lio stops a short distance into the fenced-in courtyard, turning around to look back at the facility. It looks a lot less intimidating now, just an empty concrete block building lit on one side as the sun rises. “It ends here,” Lio says, and then he summons his fire up from his depths. He clicks his teeth and the spark ignites and he breathes a steady stream of fire towards the building, igniting the wall. His flames lick up the concrete like inhuman tongues, here to erase a most horrible history and put an end to it, once and for all. 

A moment later, Gueira joins him, his flames burning up the last of Kray’s venom as it surges through his veins. Soon, five Burnish are circling the building, lighting it ablaze, until the inferno is burning towards the sky amid a pillar of smoke. Burnish flame burns hotter and faster than manmade fire; in an hour’s time, nothing will remain of Foresight Pharmaceuticals, not here. 

Galo stands back as he watches the fire burn. He still cradles his arm against his bare chest, even though the wound no longer hurts and the flesh has almost entirely regrown in a mere half hour. The hurt he feels is deeper - a wound that will undoubtedly leave a scar. But, it’s okay, he thinks. He has Lio here to help him through it, and there’s no one else he’d rather be with through it all.

A concrete wall falters and crumbles before him, exposing the charred skeleton of the facility within as the Burnish burn it to the ground.

Galo never realized that the flames could be so beautiful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final full-length chapter, and congratulations if you made it this far! This chapter was _53 single-spaced pages long_ on Google Docs. :) Epilogue, anyone?
> 
> Next: An epilogue about the life the Burnish now share together without the threat of Kray and his facility looming over them. And...a surprise?


End file.
